Nightmare
by CAHLAY
Summary: The town of South Park is threatened into complete destruction when someone snaps. Stan takes charge, but will he help or hurt the town's fate? R for swears, sex, underage drug use, cutting, and lots of killing! Just the mildest hint of slash and angst
1. Daisy Cutter

This story is a South Park story, so expect swearing and sex. This is my first attempt at a story like this, so if it sucks go ahead and flame me, especially all of you stiffs that get insulted at people having sex at a young age. (not age ten, that would be sick!)

Not to try and give away the story, but some major characters will die. Everyone has some major problems, too.

So if you hate it, go ahead and hate it. This story was just an experiment in plot line, and South Park happened to be the show I picked for it. The other experimental story I wrote was a flop, but this one seems ok. Not great, mind you. So, here I go:

EDIT 8/31/05 7:26 P.M. fixed spacing issues chapters 1-3

* * *

He opened his eyes to a pitiful existence. Every day, day in, day out, he had to live that way. Sighing, awakening for the first time that morning to his reality, he stumbled out of bed and to the bathroom. The mirror threw back at him an image of a fourteen year old whose dirty blond hair was always tangled, though no one could see it under his orange hoody. 

His first day of high school, he was sure, would be hell. No doubt was in his mind as to how he'd die on that day- and upperclassman would accidentally maim him fatally, somehow.

He never remembered anything about how he died. He always woke up in his bed the next day, with eight hours sliced out of his memory, and no one ever said anything.

As he washed his face with the slow trickle of freezing water from the dingy sink, he kept his thoughts positive. In the cracked mirror he looked for any sign of facial hair, just as an excuse to shave. Upon finding few, he wondered back to his room and automatically threw on his orange hoody. Then, before he'd even wrestled it halfway down his skinny figure, a thought occurred to him.

Why did he always wear it? His mom stopped forcing him to put it on when he was twelve, but he still wore it faithfully. So, for the first time since he could remember, he didn't wear it. Instead, he pawed through his pile of clothes in the corner underneath the poster of the half-naked woman. He threw on a white tee-shirt that looked decent and a pair of jeans with holes and oil stains through them.

After examining himself in the bathroom mirror, subsequently combing through his blonde mop, and having two frozen waffles for breakfast, he actually felt happy, or at least content.

When he walked to the bus stop, the reassuring breeze blowing on his arms and through his hair only made him feel even better.

"Hey, guys," he greeted Kyle, Stan, and Cartman.

"Whoa, Kenny, that's the first time I've seen your hair in three years!" Stan laughed, feeling his own hat on his head. Beside him, Kyle touched his own hat.

"Yeah, well, that fucking thing got annoying. Aren't you guys anxious?" Kenny grinned at Kyle, who was terribly possessive of his hat. Stan took his off.

"Not really," Stan answered. "It's still summer so I guess we don't need our hats."

Cartman laughed at all of them. "I don't know why you guys all kept your hats on so long! As soon as I turned twelve I tore that shitty thing off so fast… Kyle, you Jew, Take yours off!"

"Why? Why are we all taking our hats off just because Kenny ditched that lame parka?" Kyle wondered.

"Hey!" Kenny yelled, insulted.

"Well why not? I hated that fucking thing so much that I set it on fire after my mom let me keep it off!"

"Why?" Kyle and Stan asked at the same time.

"Because I Goddamn wanted to! I had some gas and matches and an ugly hat so why not?"

"Dude! These hats are the symbol of our childhood! Remember all the good times we had in these hats?" Kyle grabbed Stan's hat. "Throw away these, and we throw away all of those memories…"

"Naw, dude, your hair's just ugly, because it's red! Red hair is so fucking ugly… especially when it's curly!" Cartman laughed at his teasing of Kyle.

"So you're saying that Stan, Kenny and yourself have _pretty_ hair, you homo?"

"No! I'm saying that your hair is so fucking ugly that you have to hide it!"

Kenny was thankful when the bus came.

* * *

The bus ride was a total hell. The driver, an old skinny man, paid little or no attention to the road that led out of town. None of the boys knew or cared where they were going, just to a high school a few towns over. 

Finally, after an eternity of Cartman's crude and racist jokes directed towards all of them, the bus pulled into a huge parking lot packed with cars and other busses.

Kenny stared up at the school through a dirty window. It sprawled across what seemed like miles of a well-kept field. He found it odd that such a wonder of a school was hidden down from a dirt road, in the middle of a forest.

After everyone got off the busses, the drivers sped off, as though they were happy to get out of there. Stan, wide-eyed, led the pack of freshmen towards the four clear glass front doors of the massive school. He was the first to push open one of the doors, the first to leave a fingerprint on the freshly washed glass of the door. All held their breath, watching him walk slowly inside. Even when he stopped in the middle of the red tiled lobby and stared at them through the glass, they didn't budge.

After about thirty seconds of Stan getting gradually more pissed off as no one stepped forward to join him, Kenny shoved through the crowd to the doors. He knew he might get trampled, and, of course, he probably would, but somehow he managed to get inside to join Stan.

"Dude, it's hot in here," Kenny told Stan, watching the other freshman still staring at them through the windows of the doors.

"Yeah, why don't you state the obvious?" Stan snorted. "Goddamnit, why hasn't some teacher come to greet us or something?" Stan threw his bag in a corner where it nestled in nicely against a double door leading to what looked like an auditorium. Exasperated, he ripped off his jacket, which soon joined his bag.

A slow stream of kids finally started filing in. Kyle, Cartman, and Butters all formed a circle with Kenny and Stan, only to listen to the continuation of Kyle and Cartman cussing each other out.

"…fucking fatass!"

"…Goddamn Jew!"

"…P-please guys, stop f-fighting…"

"What's going on here?" a nasal voice asked from behind Kenny.

The boys all turned to see and old lady whose wide ass could actually rival Cartman's.

"Nothing, ma'am, we were-" Kyle started, only to be interrupted.

"You were fighting, and swearing while you were doing it. Now, if you don't want an in-school suspension, I suggest you cut it out." She straightened her huge 1985 glasses and curtly stomped towards to others quarreling.

Another teacher sauntered slowly over to the group of boys. "Hello and welcome to NPHS, North Park High School. If you could please go through those doors-" she pointed one manicured finger at the doors Stan's backpack leaned against. "- and take a seat, I'd be very pleased." She grinned at them, starting towards the doors herself.

"Goddamn! That is one _fine_ piece of ass!" Cartman said of the teacher.

"B-but she has no ass, Eric," Butters informed Cartman, watching the skinny teacher's nonexistent ass. Some of her long blonde hair swung past her hips in a braid, which in turn hypnotized all males in the lobby. Wendy saw Stan gaping at a strange ass and walked over, slapping him.

"Asshole. Why don't you stare at me like that? Is my ass too fat? Is my face too ugly? I can fix myself up for you, Baby! Please!" Wendy sobbed, holding onto Stan's arm and burying her face in his blue button up shirt.

Stan rolled his eyes at Kyle, grinning. "Wendy, you're great, and I'm sorry. Let's leave it at that. We have to go in here now, anyway."

The group wandered into the auditorium and sat as far back as possible in the last row of hard chairs. The fat teacher was already bitching about how TV sold sexuality.

Next to Kenny, Butters glanced nervously around. "S-so, uh, Kenny, what d-do you think so far of this, uh, 'High School' b-business?"

"It sucks," Kenny answered without a thought.

"Yeah. Say Kenny, w-what about middle school? How did you like that?"

"It sucked. Why are you asking me this?"

"W-well, I wanted to make conversation with you, s-since we don't talk to each other a l-lot."

"Oh, would that be on account of I was 'dead' when Kyle, Stan, and that fatass started noticing you?"

"Uh, you th-think a lot."

Kenny laughed. "You start to when you get killed almost every day."

Butters looked oddly at the fellow blonde. "But K-Kenny, if you died all the time, why aren't you, you know, um…"

"Dead?"

"Y-yeah. Why?"

Kenny pondered for a bit. "I don't know. My parents told me once, but I forgot most of what they said. They said something about this kid who lives a few towns over, in Retroville, who can bring anything back to life. He's a genius or something.

"Oh, you mean J-Jimmy Neutron?"

Kenny shrugged. "I guess."

"Now I will be passing out your schedules. Remember- today classes are only twenty-five minutes long and there are no upperclassmen to bother you! Have fun!" The pretty teacher told the group of freshmen.

Everyone got up and made way for the doors, a bit apprehensive.

* * *

I hope you liked it. I'll put the next chappy up ASAP. I'm a slow typist so it might take a while. This story takes up close to 200 pages on paper, and it's not quite finished. I still have to divide the parts into chapters, too. 

Like I said, I'll be more than happy with flames. Some of the stupid shit people say in them can be funny.


	2. Freshmen

A/N: Well, wouldn't ya know! I forgot to put up a disclaimer! Ok, so I'll put it now:

I DON'T OWN THE PEEPZ IN THIS STORY! (If I did, believe me Kenny would actually matter and Cartman would be the new Kenny. But noooo, I don't, so sue me and your ass is mine! Yeah, right, like someone would actually sue me for some stupid shit like this! HA!)

A/N/N: Yup, I'm trying to experiment with story plots other than just humor. I read my SSBM story after being away from it for a good few months and almost died laughing, so now, time to try and make a tragic drama out of-

Someone. Pffft, like I'd tell you!

EDIT 8/31/05 7:30 P.M. fixed spacing issues chapters 1-3

* * *

They all gathered in the lobby, schedules in hand. 

"Goddamn it! I've got gym first block every other fucking day! Son of a bitch!" Cartman complained.

"Dude, so do I," Stan told him.

"W-well, I like my schedule!" Butters grinned, staring down at the scrap of paper.

"No one cares, Butters," Kyle said, uninterested. "Stan, what period do you have study hall?"

"Fifth. You?"

"Shit. I've got study hall first period. But maybe I could sneak out of Spanish and see you."

"Kenny, you haven't said much. Say something, dammit!" Stan demanded.

"Yeah! I'd better have study hall with someone I know!"

"Or what?" Kenny asked, jokingly, as always.

"Or… I don't know. So, do you have study hall with me?"

"No… but what period do you have science?"

"Seventh."

"Me, too."

"I-I've got science seventh period, too, you g-guys!" Butters announced.

Stan rolled his eyes at Kyle again. "Whoopee!" he said sarcastically.

"Hey," Kenny started in Butters' defense, but the bell rang and a herd of fourteen and fifteen year olds started towards their first period classes.

Kenny went down the hall towards the art room, Kyle towards the study hall room, Cartman and Stan towards the gym, and Butters to algebra.

* * *

Kenny finally made it to the art room. He figured that art was his safest bet, seeing as how he'd probably be killed in seconds in autobody or welding. However, the art room looked pretty sinister, too. 

There were two huge gray cabinets on his right; he knew they'd fall on him and crush him if he walked by them. The tables were crunched together, with chairs gathered around them like a fight was going on. He knew he'd trip on one and fall on a pencil and die. In all of the corners were huge piles of boxes filled with he didn't know what, and a paper cutter on one of the teetering piles. He knew that he'd trip over one of the boxes when someone was about to cut some paper and get his head chopped off. When he looked up, the ceiling tiles were painted with many different culture icons, bands, and pretty pictures. He knew that he'd be under the painting that would fall and give him a major aortic paper cut, and he'd die…

"Why, hello!" The familiar sweet voice jumped him. Turning, he saw the pretty blond woman with the nonexistent ass. "I'm the art teacher, Mrs. Wagnall. What's your name?"

"Kenny. Uh, McCormick."

"How do you do, Kenny?"

"Ok, I guess." He smiled back at her, feeling instantly better.

* * *

Kyle meekly peered inside the study hall room. He frowned at Pip, the only person in the room. 

"Hey, Frenchie, where's the teacher?" Kyle snorted.

Pip's eyes narrowed but he answered all the same. "She's gone to the powder room."

"_'Powder room_.'" Kyle sat in the conjoined desk and chair twins farthest away from Pip. A few seconds of hateful science later, the study hall monitor returned.

"'Allo. I vill be teacher today. Tomorrow different," the redheaded woman said in a heavy Russian accent.

Kyle stared at one of the white walls, thinking. _Goddamn it. I had to get stuck with this loser, and a teacher who I don't even understand. This sucks so much ass._

"Who here is 'Kyle?'" She wondered, pronouncing his name wrong.

"I am."

"Marvelous. Vendy, she is not here yet?"

"You mean Wendy?" Pip confirmed.

"Yes. Vendy."

At that same moment, Wendy and Bebe sauntered in, giving Kyle even more of a reason to hate study hall.

Like he knew she would, Bebe sat next to Kyle, grinning both stupidly and seductively at him. Sighing, he buried his head in his arms. When he felt her playfully taking off his trademark hat, he knew twenty-five minutes was going to drag on forever.

* * *

"Hello and welcome to gym class," the gym teacher greeted, staring up at the bored freshmen scattered amongst the bleachers. He glanced at the list of rules and felt dizzied. Being just over twenty and not caring much for long speeches, especially about rules, he summarized them all quickly. "Alright. This classis easy. Just change up, do something physically active, and we'll all be cool. Any questions?" 

Cartman raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Teacher, I was wondering, does this class suck ad much ass as I've heard?

"Well, it sucks as much ass as you want it to suck. Now everyone tell me your names and something about yourself. Who wants to go first?"

A long pause followed.

"Anyone?"

….

"No one?"

….

"Okay, I'll start with you, blue shirt." He pointed at Stan. "What's your name, what do you like?"

"Uh, I'm Stan Marsh and, uh, I don't know."

"You're a hippie!" Cartman catcalled.

"Shut your mouth, fatass!" Stan retaliated immediately.

The teacher smiled, trying not to laugh. "Finally, some life out of you guys! Well, then, 'fatass,' what's your name, what do you like to do?"

"I'm- AY! I'm not fat-"

"You're 'big-boned,'" Craig laughed, mocking Cartman's distinctly deep voice.

"AY! Shut up!"

Stan drifted off the rest of class, but he knew that a huge argument had happened. It disturbed his perverted reveries about Wendy.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

The math teacher paced around the room. 

"My name is Mr. Knowles. I think you will all be pleased that you took algebra I."

Butters sat attentively in his seat, while Jimmy, beside him, fell asleep.

Hesitantly, Butters raised his hand. "S-sir? A-are you a good teacher?"

"I don't know… I guess you'll have to figure that out for yourself over the course of this year, um…"

"B-Butters. My name's B-Butters."

"Ok, _B-Butters_, what's your real name? I'm serious; what kind of parents would name a kid 'Butters?'"

"M-my real name's Leopold, sir. Please call me B-Butters."

"Really? Well then, Butters, what's the square root of 552?"

"Um, s-sir, I don't-"

"Don't Kn-know?" he mocked Butters' still boyish voice and stuttering problem. "Find out!" He threw a calculator on Butters' desk.

Jimmy awoke with a start. "School's out? YAY!" He ran as fast as he could with his crutches to the door.

"No, school _isn't_ out. Go sit down." Jimmy obeyed, disappointed. "_'B-Butters,'_ did you _f-find_ out _y-yet_?" Mr. Knowles growled, standing over Butters as the fair-haired boy tried desperately to work the big, geeky calculator.

"Mr. Knowles, s-sir, this thing has s-so many buttons-"

"God, You are _such_ a moron!" Mr. Knowles snatched the device, then began pressing buttons fervently. "Butters, go write this up on the board."

Butters walked up to the board, taking the calculator from the teacher as he passed. He picked up a marker and looked at the big calculator in his hand. He began to write, as neatly as he could, 'I AM A HOPELESS MEMBER OF A HOPELESS GENERATION' on the white board.

Finished, he turned, teary-eyed, back to the class. This day was going to suck. First period always decided it all.

* * *

"How was school, son?" Kenny's mom asked when Kenny got home. She was sitting in their ratty living room chair, screwing in a loose bolt on some sort of electrical thing. Kenny knew it wasn't theirs; they only had a TV and that was too precious for them to tamper with. 

"Lookie what I found on the take or leave pile at the dump! It's a microwave, honey, tonight we eat like kings!" She smiled at him and he grinned back. Just then, Kevin busted through the door. "How was your day, Kevin?"

He mumbled something incoherently and shot upstairs to his room. Shaking her head, she returned to the microwave, frowning. Out in the kitchen, Kenny's dad was getting increasingly more belligerent. At what, Kenny didn't know, but wasn't going to stick around to find out. When he was up in his room, he could hear the contents of his already broken home being smashed.

Without even thinking about it, he ran back downstairs and out the door.

* * *

"Kyle, do you have any home work?" Sheila asked the second Kyle walked through the door. 

"No, mom, they never give us homework on the first day. Can I go over to Stan's?"

"Sure, Buhbie. Just don't do anything funny!"

"Like what?" Kyle asked, confused.

"Oh, I don't know. But you _do_ know that it's ok to have feelings for-"

"Mom! Sick, Stan and I aren't like that!" Kyle angrily slammed the front door. He knew that his mom and Stan's mom had the hots for each other, but not him and Stan. Never! He didn't like Stan that way; Stan didn't like him that way.

At least, he hoped not.

* * *

Alright. Finally. 

This chapter was a bitch to type. Just so you all know.

BTW, the calculator that Butters tries to use is a TI-83 Plus calculator. If you've seen one of those, you'll know why Butters got confused. Those fuckers are hand-held computers!

This is my lame attempt at a cliffhanger. I might have the next chappy up by next week. If not, then I either got carpel tunnel or forgot.

After this chapter it gets better. Whoa, yes, it does….. J


	3. Hangover

A/N: whoa dude I got tons of reviews! About this story being slash…. I don't know. All of my stories have at least a pinch of gayness in them, but this story is not about everyone's relationships with everyone else. The slash was a little sidetrack that I put up. No gay sex, sorry.

While I like slash stories fine, but couldn't write one if my life depended on it. Sexual writing makes me…err, sheepish.

(btw I'm glad you liked it brad)

EDIT 8/31/05 7:34 P.M. fixed spacing issues chapters 1-3

* * *

Cartman waddled through the front door.

"Why, how was school, sweetie?" his mom asked, smiling at him from the kitchen door.

"Sucked _ass_! Can I have some Cheesy Poofs, Ma?"

"Sure, dear." She turned into the kitchen, Cartman closely following as he shed his jacket, boots, and schoolbag. "Here you go."

They both sat at the kitchen table, Mrs. Cartman writing checks for her bills, her son crunching down the snack.

* * *

"Stan, your friend is here to see you!" Stan's dad called.

"Is it Cartman?" Stan hollered back, not wanting to see the fatass.

"No, the Jew."

Downstairs, Kyle yelled, "Hey!" Stan smiled.

"Send him up, Dad."

Seconds later, Kyle flung Stan's door open, looking pissed off. Seeing Stan's huge dopey smile, he squinted. "What are you so fucking happy about, blue shirt?"

"What are you so mad about, green hat?" Stan laughed, relieved as Kyle's expression softened. "Good. Now that we're all happy again, what do you want?"

Kyle flopped down next to Stan on the bed. "Nothing. I just don't want to hang around my house all day. Was that algebra teacher as mean to your class as he was to mine?"

"Yeah. Maybe he's naturally a stupid asshole."

"Like Cartman?" Kyle grinned. Looking down at him, Stan nodded.

"Yep. Like Cartman."

Neither teen said anything else for a minute or so, but the silence was not awkward. It welcomed open banter, like a casual study hall. Finally Kyle started a conversation.

"Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"When I asked my mom if I could come over here, she told me not to do anything 'funny.'"

"Like what?" Stan asked, although he was pretty sure he knew.

"I asked her the same thing and she thinks that I like you, like, like-like."

At first Stan looked worried, then grinned. "Yeah, parents _do_ get messed up ideas." He looked away from Kyle, at the wall, and got pissed at his mother.

She told Sheila. She fucking told Sheila.

* * *

"Butters, did you like high school OK?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"Good. Go finish up your homework."

"Yes, ma'am." Butters marched up the stairs the only way he knew how. With no homework to occupy him, though, he could only think of the algebra teacher and cry. "I-I'll show him. I'll be s-smart…" After wiping away a tear, Butters shuffled to his closet.

Reaching inside, he mumbled to himself until he found it, his instant happy maker: a porno. He frowned at what else fell out of his closet- another of his less happy making porno tapes, a pint of vodka, and Kenny's ninja star that had to be surgically removed from his eye. Also something that spilled a dark liquid all over his hardwood floor fell out.

Pissed off, he threw it all hastily back in, though he had to stop to take a shot of vodka, and stared at the dark puddle at his feet.

"Oh, n-no, I hope Dad doesn't find out about this! Sweet Jesus!" He ran to get some rags and wiped it all up, then threw the rag in the closet where it joined two six packs of beer, fifteen coffee mugs, various pieces of clothing, a knife, a stack of porno magazines, and another stack of porno tapes with a holy Bible on top of them.

* * *

Kenny woke up, disoriented. As he looked around, he saw the interior of a richly decorated bedroom around him.

Yes- he'd gone to Kyle's house, but Kyle had gone to Stan's house. He was surprised that Kyle's mom had let him stay in their guest bedroom.

"Dude, Kenny, get your lazy ass up," Kyle demanded sleepily, appearing in the doorway, scratching at his red afro of hair. "We've got school." He flicked the lights on and, in doing so, temporarily blinded himself as well as Kenny. "Fuck… Why the fuck did I do that…" He half fell back to his room.

Shielding his eyes, Kenny slowly lifted himself out of the comfortable bed and into the bathroom. When he went downstairs after combing his hair as best he could with his fingers, Kyle's mom had plates full of toast, pancakes, and eggs spread out over the table. She glanced up at him from her own plate.

"Oh, Kenny, join us!" she smiled.

"Uh, no, I can't I-"

"Please, join us," She said, getting more sinister with every word.

"Mmmm-hmmm," her husband agreed from behind his newspaper.

Uncomfortably Kenny sat down at the table with Ike and Kyle's parents.

"So, Kenny…" Sheila started, pushing a plate of toast towards him, "I don't see you around much." She glanced at his ragged clothes and very thin body. "Kenny, are you getting enough to eat?"

"Uh… why?" he asked, looking up from his still untouched plate.

"Well, you're so tiny… and you don't seem to eat much… are you anorexic?"

Kenny had to snort with laughter. "No…"

"Well then why aren't you eating? My word, Kenny, You're smaller than that Clay Aiken guy! Put some meat on your bones, for goodness sake!"

"Mom, leave Kenny alone," Kyle said, stepping down the stairs. He took a seat beside Kenny and started carefully cutting up a nearby plate of toast. When he noticed Kenny watching him oddly, he asked, "What?"

"Why are you doing that?" Kenny pointed to the plate of chopped up toast.

Kyle shrugged. "I don't know."

The blond stared down at his own plate. He had taught himself how to reject any wanting for even slightly delicious food so he wouldn't both starve and drive himself crazy at the same time. Finally he picked up a piece and nibbled a corner off of it. Instantly his ravenous hunger returned, prompting him to devour all the toast in his plate in thirty seconds. Sheila shoved some pancakes and eggs his way, which he ate so fast he might as well have inhaled them.

Kyle, along with his family, stared openmouthed at Kenny, who was as wide eyed and surprised as everyone else.

Sheila gasped, dropping her fork at the appetite of Kyle's friend.

"Sorry, I guess I-"

"Kenny! My word! You could have told me you were bulimic!"

Kyle and Kenny both started laughing. Choking on a piece of his chopped up toast, Kyle stopped long enough to take a drink and then joined his friend again.

"Boys, it's not funny! Bulimia is a serious problem in both girls _and_ boys! We have to educate the public about bulimia in males! We'll call it 'Male Bulimia Education Week!'"

"I don't have any eating disorders," Kenny chuckled. "And even if I did, it wouldn't be bulimia. Why would I want to waste food like that?"

"So you're anorexic, then?"

"No."

"Sure, you're denying it _now_."

"I just ate."

"So you're bulimic?"

"No."

"Right. Kenny, why don't you go take a shower and come back down. You have another hour until the bus comes."

"Well, I…"

"Don't worry, Kenny. If I hear you regurgitating, I'll be right up."

"You won't hear it."

"Sure."

"Seriously."

"Uh huh," Sheila winked, signaling to Kenny that she would keep his 'eating disorder' a secret.

"GODDAMMIT MOM! HE DOESN'T HAVE A FUCKING EATING DISORDER!" Kyle exploded, tired of hearing about it.

"Kyle, I'm sick of your outbursts. Go get dressed. The next time you yell like that, it's anger management class!"

Kyle cringed. "You wouldn't…"

"I would and I will. Now go get your MOTHERFUCKING CLOTHES ON, KYLE H. BROFLOVSKI!"

"Mmm-hmm," Kyle's dad agreed.

* * *

Stan yawned, standing next to Cartman at the bus stop.

"Tired, hippie? Did you stay up all night making free love to Wendy?" Cartman teased.

"No, fatass, Kyle and I had a drinking contest and I lost." With his head pounding, Stan sat on the cold ground, allowing himself to relax in a vain attempt to soothe his hangover.

"Hey, look, It's Jew Boy and his sidekick Ghetto Kid! Good morning, assholes!"

"Cartman, I'm gonna kick your fucking fat ass!" Kyle threatened, but didn't when he reached the bus stop.

"Dude, what's got your panties in a bunch?"

"Shut your face, fatass!"

Stan winced from the yelling. "Dude… Stop saying things…" He held his head, curling up in a ball at Kenny's feet and falling asleep.

"Yeah, why _are_ you angry?" Kenny wondered, glancing up at Kyle.

"My mom threatened me with anger management classes again."

"HA!" Cartman fell on the ground laughing, which woke up Stan and pissed him off at the same time.

"What the hell, fatass! I'm trying to sleep off my Goddamn hangover! Now shut the fuck up!" Stan staggered to his feet.

Digging in his pockets, he grumbled until he finally found a five dollar bill. Angrily he threw it down at Cartman, glaring at it as it settled on Cartman's forehead. Cartman stared questioningly up at him.

"I'm paying you, fat fuck, to shut your Goddamn mouth!"

Cartman smiled, getting up, five dollar bill in hand. "Okay, Stan. Just don't go Kyle on us again!"

"What's that supposed to mean, asshole?" Kyle growled, gritting his teeth.

"Who gives a fuck! Shut your pieholes so I can sleep!" Stan muttered, rubbing his puffy eyes.

"Well, Kyle gets pissed off about everything, unlike the rest of us," Cartman informed the group.

"I DO NOT, FATASS!"

"Shut up… please…"

"Dumbass Jew! You came here mad! And yesterday you got mad!"

"Godammit, Cartman, why do you have to be such a fucking asshole and point out everyone's flaws?"

"You guys…. Shut the hell up…"

"Oh, I do, Kyle? Okay, then, you're a Jew, you have ugly hair, you have anger issues, and you're too tall. Kenny's poor, a dumb blonde, too skinny, and doesn't talk enough. Stan's a hippie, has a bad fashion sense, has ugly black hair, and his mom's a lesbo."

"What?" Stan only heard the last part about his mom. "My mom's not a-" He interrupted himself by suddenly puking all over the tarred road. "Damn it…" He stumbled to his feet and glared at Kyle. "Fuck you, green hat! Fuck you for having a drinking contest with me!" He punched at Kyle's head, but missed by three feet and fell over. "Sh-shit."

After throwing up all over himself again, he got back up and wobbled towards his house.

"Don't worry, Stan. I'll help you home," Kyle reassured his friend as Stan leaned almost a little bit too much on him.

"Awwww, look at that- the two love birds! Which one's gonna wear the wedding dress?" Cartman laughed.

"Shut up, fatass!" Kyle snorted as he helped Stan down the road.

"You'd look good in a wedding dress…" Stan babbled, then stopped Kyle to throw up.

"Right." Kyle bit his lip in frustration and annoyance.

Finally, even though it was a 'short' walk, Stan was at his house.

"Thanks, Kiiiiiieeellle……." Stan fell down on the front lawn, asleep before he even hit the ground.

Shaking his head, Kyle turned to sprint back to the bus stop, where the bus was already pulling up.

* * *

"H-hey, guys," Butters greeted the three boys when they ambled into the lobby

"Hey, Butters," Kyle mumbled back, almost not noticing him at all. Both Kyle and Cartman walked in separate directions- Kyle drifted towards an ostracized, moody-looking bunch of losers, and Cartman made a beeline to the snack bar.

Instead of following one of them, as he usually did, Kenny stood next to Butters, not saying anything. He felt incredibly uncomfortable in the clothes that Kyle had let him borrow. They sagged off of him like curtains; Kyle was much taller than him, but only a little bit thicker around the middle. Nonetheless, Kyle's jeans kept falling down to his tiny hips, no matter what he did.

"S-so, Kenny, how do you like high school so f-far?"

"Sucks," Kenny laughed, pulling Kyle's pants up for the zillionth time.

"K-Kenny? How come you think everything s-sucks?"

"Why not think that way? What good is it to be happy all the time anyway?"

"It's actually p-pretty cool, being happy!" Butters knew from experience. He had given up on Professor Chaos after sixth grade, realizing that he would never succeed in destroying the town.

"Maybe, but happy people can get on peoples nerves faster than people who don't care."

"Oh. S-so you don't care?"

Kenny shrugged. "Sometimes. But sometimes is almost never."

"W-well, how do you do it?"

Kenny sighed, agitated by Butters' questioning. "When you don't have anything to care about you don't care. Bad shit happens when you care." Kenny stared at one of the deep red tiles of the lobby floor. Before Butters could ask Kenny if he was alright, Kevin, Kenny's older brother, approached the two from across the lobby.

"Kenny, mom told me to tell you that she's not going to kill you. She wants you to, um… come…" he squinted at the note he had written to remember his mom's lecture. "Home. I think." He tossed the paper at Kenny and ran back to the other side of the lobby.

"W-what's that?" Butters pointed at the note

"Nothing." Kenny crumpled it up and threw it away, not being able to read Kevin's messy handwriting. Even if he could he knew he wouldn't.

"Hey, where's S-Stan?" Butters asked after scanning the crowded lobby three times over for Stan's distinctive black hair.

"He got drunk last night and threw up at the bus stop. What a dumbass."

"K-Kenny? Can I tell y-you something?"

"Depends." Kenny raised an interested eyebrow. "Is it a deep, dark secret?"

"Y-yes."

"Really?"

"Yes. P-please don't tell my dad!"

"I won't, Butters. I don't even know your parents."

"I have beer in my c-closet! And v-vodka, too! Sweet Jesus!" He looked around suspiciously. "L-last night I drank some! I-I'm a bad kid, Kenny! A b-bad kid…"

As usual, Kenny laughed. "That's your deep, dark, secret? Jeez, everyone in this school has the same one!"

* * *

A sound woke him up. As he studied his surroundings, he came to realize that he was on his front lawn. Why- he couldn't say, but he figured it might have had something to do with the vomit all over his Sublime t-shirt.

"Ewww." Not caring who was watching, he ripped it off, revealing an upper body toned well by football and basketball. His head hurt, he needed to shave, he had no idea how he had ended up in such a predicament, and he was late for school. "School- mom, she'll take me!" As he tried to walk, he found he'd forgotten how and fell to his hands and knees to puke again.

Sticking his tongue out as he usually did when he needed to concentrate, vomit-covered Sublime shirt in hand, he forced himself up and across the lawn. After a half an hour of trying and falling, he finally opened the front door triumphantly.

"Mom? Mom?" He yelled, but al he heard throughout the house was some 1980's love song coming from his parents' room. Dropping the shirt under the spot where his hand happened to be, he began his long hung over journey up the stairs of his house.

A long while later, after falling down the stairs on three separate occasions, Stan was at the top. He tripped down the hallway and pushed open his parents door. What he saw was burned in his memory forever.

Sheila, Kyle's mom, had her red head between his own mother's spread legs. He shut the door almost instantly, fell down the stairs and got the hell out of there.

Back in his front yard, shirtless, disgusted, freezing his ass off, with a serious hangover, he fell down. Beside his head, his backpack seemed to welcome him to reach inside it. He did as the backpack told and pulled out a Snickers bar. For a second, as he devoured the chocolate morsel, he forgot about what he'd seen. When the reassurance of chocolate was gone, he remembered, and wanted so badly to stab his eyes out.

* * *

OK,

I can't feel my fucking arm. This is crap.

In the next chappy, lotsa people start the story moving. Things change. Oh yes.

(thanx for the casual study hall simile, Brad!)


	4. Sex

A/N: Nothing. Just nothing.

* * *

"How was school, Kenny?" Kenny's mom wondered as he walked slowly through the door.

"Sucked."

"Well, we're glad you came back, honey, we missed ya."

"Right," Kenny grumbled, dropping his bag in a corner and darting upstairs, eager to get Kyle's too-big clothes off.

Once up in his room, he slid Kyle's borrowed pants off without even unzipping them. The shirt, which reached halfway down his thigh, he could have taken off like the pants, through the head hole. After slipping into some of his own clothes, he bundled up Kyle's clothes and began his trek to his friend's house.

* * *

"Kenny?" Sheila asked, opening the door.

"Yeah. Is Kyle here?"

"No, he-"

"Don't tell me he's at Stan's house." Kenny rolled his blue eyes, annoyed.

"Actually, He wanted to meet Stan at the elementary school." Sheila looked around, then added, "I think he likes Stan, like, like-like."

Kenny, raising a skeptical eyebrow, handed Kyle's clothes to Sheila and slowly backed away. "Yeah… uh, tell Kyle I said thanks."

Smiling to herself, Sheila watched Kenny run towards the elementary school.

* * *

"So, what did you want to tell me, Stan?" Kyle questioned agitatedly, wanting to know.

"Hey, you guys!" Kenny called from across the playground.

"Kenny? Get your ass over here!" Stan demanded. When Kenny reached the two, he looked at Stan oddly.

"Stan… Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Long story. I was-"

"Oh, Stan, you horndog!" Walking by the school were Wendy and Bebe.

"Goddammit! Who the hell else is gonna show up!?" Stan yelled, exasperated.

"So you aren't happy to see me? Well, I sure am happy to see you, mister!" Wendy joked, running over to hug Stan.

"Wendy, we were talking and-"

"Were you talking about me?"

"No, I was going to tell Kyle about something-"

"You weren't in school today. I missed you!" She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Dude, you smell like beer- Stan, did you get smashed again?" Wendy stepped back to wave a motherly finger at her boyfriend.

"Yes, Wendy. And now I need to go sleep off my hangover."

"Can I help you sleep?" Wendy giggled, getting raised eyebrows from Kenny and Kyle.

"No, Wendy. Now, normally I wouldn't pass up the chance to fuck you, but today I've got a hangover and something to tell someone. Sorry." Stan reluctantly pecked her on the cheek, then turned to leave.

Shrugging, Wendy and Bebe continued on to the girl's room.

* * *

"Alright, young man, you stay in your room and think about what you've done!" Butters' dad yelled, slamming his son's bedroom door.

"F-fuck you Dad! I didn't do nothing'!" Butters retaliated, then realized what he had said and knew what was coming. "Oh, sweet Jesus!"

"Young man? Get out here. I want to talk to you."

Butters swallowed the huge lump of apprehension in his throat. Whenever he did something even incredibly trivial, he either got grounded for a month or bruised up for a good few weeks or so. Somehow he figured that saying 'fuck you' to his own father would more than likely get him a broken arm or a day long coma. The most his mom would ever do to him was lock him in his room and forget about him until his dad got home. Then…

Butters cringed thinking about it. Slowly he opened the door, biting his lip to force back the fearful tears. "Sorry, s-sir." He stared at his feet, trying to regulate his breathing, waiting for a fist to connect with his head.

"Butters, look at me." Nervously Butters looked up, barely hiding his terror.

Suddenly an arm was around him. It was not choking him, as usual, but…. hugging him?

"I've been waiting for you to say that for years now! You've finally learned to stand up for yourself!"

Butters stared up at his dad, his mouth slightly open from shock.

"Son, your mother and I have been giving you such harsh punishments so that you could learn that you need to stand up for yourself. The less you stood up for yourself, the more punishment we gave you."

"W-what? R-really?" Butters mumbled, astonished. Then his anger returned. "Well, that's bullshit! S-sir, I didn't want to d-disrespect you!"

"Butters, you're grounded."

"B-but that's bullshit! What for?"

"Now that's my boy. Come on downstairs. I'll make you some hot chocolate."

* * *

The doorbell was ringing.

"MOM! Get the Goddamn door!" Cartman hollered from his perch on the couch.

"Mommy's busy, honey," Cartman's mom said sweetly as she lit up her crack pipe and snuggled closer the man in bed with her.

"Son of a bitch!" Cartman fell off the couch and smashed the front door opened. "Butters? What the he;; are you doing at my house, you little-"

Cartman was cut off by Butters cuffing him in the jaw.

"Owww… You little fucker, I eat with that!" Cartman tackled the smaller teenager, who fell on the ground under Cartman's weight. Although Butters was pinned by 190 pounds of Cartman's ass, he beat his fists wherever they landed, kicking in vain.

"Get the f-fuck off me!" Butters punched blindly one more time, then Cartman stood up fast, holding his bloody nose.

"Butters, I hate you with every inch of my body." Cartman turned and ran into his house, locking the door behind him.

"Holy shit, dude!"

Butters, still laying on the ground, glared over his shoulder at Kenny, Kyle, and a shirtless Stan staring at him from across the street.

"Oh, hi, fellers." Butters rose to his feet and swaggered towards them, but they gradually backed away. "W-what? I don't have any grudges against y-you guys… except maybe K-Kenny."

"Me?" Kenny asked, wide-eyed, pointing at his chest. Kenny had no reason to be worried, though. Butters was not much bigger than him, and a really bad fighter. He grinned in spite of himself.

"Yeah. That t-time you threw a ninja star in my eye r-really hurt."

"Yeah," Kenny remembered. "And we dressed you up like a-"

Stan and Kyle both covered Kenny's mouth before Butters had a reason to kick their asses, too.

They allowed Butters to walk over to them and stand next to Kenny silently, staring at Stan. "Uh, w-why doesn't Stan have a shirt on?" Butters muttered to Kenny, who only shrugged.

"It's a long story," Stan growled. "Let's go over to Kenny's house and I'll tell you."

"Why my house? You guys said it sucked ass."

"Well, it does. But I won't go over to Kyle's, and I can't stay at my house. I was headed for Cartman's house but Butters had to fuck it all up so, Kenny, we're going to your house whether you like it or not," Stan told Kenny pointedly.

"C-can I come?" Butters asked.

"Sure," the other three boys agreed.

A few houses down, they reached Kenny's house, a pitiful green shack, with twisted metaljunk in the front yard. A truck, yet to be fixed, restedon the burnt brown weeds that was the McCormick's lawn. Scowling as he opened the door, Kenny looked around, almost daring someone to say something.

"Hi, honey. Aw, ya brought some friends over. Who's the blond one?" Kenny's mom asked of Butters as she sat on the ratty couch, drinking a beer and watching Days of Our Lives on the little black and white TV.

"M-my name's B-Butters, ma'am."

"Okay, then. You all be on your way. Kevin says whoever disturbs him and his little girlfriend will be sorry, whatever that's supposed to mean." She leaned back on the couch, sipping peacefully on the beer.

"Dude, Kevin has a girlfriend? What kinda dumbass would date him?" Kyle laughed when the four of them were up in Kenny's room. Kenny nodded and sat down on the one clean spot on his splintered wood floor. The others followed suit. Kenny, who'd been holding in his laughter all the way up the stairs, burst out laughing.

"Kyle, I've got something important to say, remember? Now, Goddammit, we're all gonna listen to me, got it?"

"Got it," Kyle, Butters, and Kenny, through heavy laughter, agreed.

"Okay. This morning I woke up on the front lawn covered in puke, and it took me forever to walk inside and up the stairs. I wanted my mom to take me to school, right? And when I got to her room I saw… uh, I saw my-"

Stan was interrupted by a loud, obviously female moan from the next room.

Kenny got up from their little circle and pounded his fist on the wall. "You guys sound like you're making a porno in there. It doesn't feel _that_ good, does it?"

The teens still sitting on the floor started howling with laughter, but Kyle just looked pissed off, as usual.

"Godammit, Kenny! Sit your skinny ass down and Stan, you finish the fucking story."

"Okay, okay. I saw Kyle's mom… uh… you know…"

"NO, asshole, I don't… wait… you mean… ewww! Gross!"

Butters and Kenny, who still didn't know, were baffled.

"W-what was she doing, S-Stan?"

"Our moms were dyking each other out," Kyle said flatly, traumatized.

Kenny started into hysterics.

"Shut the hell up!" Kevin and his girlfriend yelled through the wall.

"Dude…" Kenny started, holding his splitting side for a minute. "Seeing that is gonna fuck up your sex life seriously!" He fell back and continued laughing.

"Yeah…" Stan's eyes glazed over for a minute as he thought about all the times he could have had sex with Wendy and didn't. Kenny was right- he would be fucked up. Unless, of course, he forgot, but he knew that could never happen- at least not anytime soon. "Kenny?"

"Yes?" Kenny looked at Stan from his position laying on the floor.

"What's sex like?"

"And what makes you think I'd know?" Kenny grinned.

"Well, uh, I don't know."

"Just to let you know, Stan, this is a really fucked up question to ask at this really fucked up time."

"Answer the fucking question, asshole!" Kyle demanded, since he really wanted to know, too.

"It's like this: the chick matters more than you. Remember that, and you're good. Forget it, and you're screwed. Not literally of course. The first girl I did it with was some hobag from North Park and she was so much taller than me, I remember that she had to pick me up so I could even neck her. We went to some chick flick together and we slipped vodka in our sodas and got smashed. We did it right there in the movie theater, drunk, in the back row. The usher saw us doing it and kicked us out. It was pretty funny." Kenny told them all as he recalled it.

Exchanging a glance with Kyle, Stan said, "Yeah, but what's it _like_? Like, what do you…. uh, think about?"

"First you think about how hot the chick is, even if she's not. Then, how _good_ the chick is, even if she's not. Then you think about how you love her and want to marry her, but when it's all over you think she's a slut for sleeping with you. Even if you _did_ date her, when she caves you lose almost all respect for her, dump her, suffer all that 'morning after' bullshit, and then want her back. But it never happens, man. Now, do you have any other retarded shit you wanna ask? I'm your sexpert for today, right?"

Kyle and Stan raised their eyebrows at an actual word of advice from Kenny.

"Y-yeah, Kenny, um, what's it like saying s-stuff to the girl after, uh, y-you know," Butters asked, surprising everyone.

"Well, Butters, it isn't that hard. The girl doesn't even remember who the hell you are, or at least the girls I did it with didn't, unless she was a girlfriend or something. Then, she'll probably kill you for breaking up with her afterwards or be all lovey-dovey with you if you didn't. Anything else?" Kenny asked, seeming cocky for the first time Kyle and Stan could remember.

"Okay, then, Kenny, do you think sex is _really_ worth it?" Kyle asked, figuring such a question would challenge Kenny.

"When you think about it, not really. But then again, who thinks anymore?"

"Kenny, what would you do if you if you saw your mom and, say, Cartman's mom dyking each other out?" Stan questioned, growing uncomfortable with all the sex talk.

"I'd laugh."

"Would you?"

"Wanna bet?"

"Sure."

"Dude, how are you guys gonna bet?" Kyle wondered.

"I dunno…" Stan grinned and rose to his feet. "My foot's asleep."

"K-Kenny? How old were you when you f-first… did it?" Butters asked curiously, pissing Stan of by dragging the sex topic back up.

"Beats me. Probably twelve or thirteen," Kenny answered distractedly. He also got up, only to be joined by Butters and Kyle.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Kenny slammed his fist on the wall again. "Kevin? Did you come yet?"

In a matter of a second or less everyone was laughing again, Stan and Kyle included.

"Jeez, Kenny! I swear…" Kyle snorted between laughs.

"K-Kenny? What if Kevin gets mad?"

"Kevin gets mad all the time. His threats are empty. But mom…" Kenny shook his head. "She's the one you don't wanna fuck with."

"W-what?"

"Kevin used to beat me up." Kenny lifted his t-shirt up to show all kinds of scars all over his skinny stomach. Pointing at the biggest and most evident, he said, "That's where Kevin stabbed me with a fingernail file." He pointed at another scabbed over patch of skin on his stomach. "And this is where Mom spilled hot water on me." Kenny didn't need to tell where all the others came from. They all inferred that his many deaths had given him at least a few unpleasant reminders. However, he held out his left arm, showing off some impressively deep gashes up his arm. "This fucker really hurt. I had to reach into a bunch of spiky bushes for something; I don't even remember what, I was so drunk."

"Are you sure you didn't just get drunk and slit your wrists the wrong way?" Kyle joked, noticing that the scratches were vertical.

"Yeah." Kenny looked at his wrists, both of which were scarred from various fatal accidents. "Now, why would I want to give _myself_ more scratches when I've already got enough?"

Kyle shrugged. "Seems like something you'd do."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Kyle was surprised that Kenny was glaring at him.

"What? You are?" Kevin said from the other room.

Instantly four ears were pressed up against Kenny's wall.

"Oh, OK."

"No, that's not-"

"Kevin, I've gotta deal with this myself."

"Hey," Stan noted. "That voice sounds like-"

"SHELLEY?!" Kyle and Kenny exclaimed when Kevin's girlfriend bust through the door.

"Stan? Listen, you turd, if you tell Mom about this, I'll kill you!" She turned abruptly and left, throwing an especially nasty glance at Stan.

"Her threats aren't empty…" Stan mumbled, fearing the wrath of Shelley.

* * *

Wow. I did it. Go me. The spacing on this is all fucked up and if it messes up then I really don't care. I have to heavily cut the next few chapters to get on with the story, so if things seem unclear or just really stupid, tell me. Or if you don't want them to get butchered too bad. Chapter four, five and six will essentially be one 2,500 word chapter when I get done, hopefully. Currently they take up 15-20 pages on paper, which is just too much.

I'm also thinking of just crapping the entire last two chapters, and leaving more to the blood and gore and all. Also I'll put in a few sidetracks, plagarize my other story, and basically get rid of at least 30 extra pages on paper. It's gonna be hard.

Shit.

Next chappy up by next week. I promise.

::falls asleep::


	5. Saturday

A/N: I think I did a good job of hatcheting things. If anyone wants to read the deleted shit then let me know! In this chappy everyone's severe problems become clear. Sorta.

* * *

Stan and Cartman met up with Kenny, Kyle, and a teary-eyed Butters after an unpleasant group gym shower. The two boys had thrown soap at each other, flicked each other with towels, and given obnoxious wet willies to each other. It was safe to say that they were not on speaking terms.

"I'm g-gonna make him p-pay!" Stan caught word of Butters threat and joined the circle, pushing casually in between Kyle and Kenny.

"What'd I miss? Who's Butters gonna make pay?" Cartman asked excitedly as he shoved Kenny aside to join the clique, knocking the blonde headlong into a trash can.

"You if you don't f-fuck off, asshole!" Butters retaliated, lunging at Cartman. Kyle and Stan held Butters back easily. Stan raised an eyebrow at Kyle, who shrugged back.

"Dude? What did I do to you, Butters?" Cartman sounded genuinely concerned. He kept his eyes at his feet, seemingly fascinated with his shoelaces. Kenny reappeared next to him, looking even more displeased with the larger teen than Butters did.

"Everything! I hate your g-guts, Eric! Go s-somewhere else!" Butters struggled to get out of Kyle's grip on his left arm, and then spit in Cartman's face when he couldn't.

"Dude!" Cartman stomped off, angered.

"Butters? Did I ever tell you how much I honor and respect you?" Stan asked, gaping at Cartman's back retreating down the hallway.

"N-no. Now get your goddamn hands off m-me!" After being freed from his friends' strong grips, Butters returned to his normal, contented state. "So, fellers, how sh-should I make him pay?"

"Uh…" The other three stepped away, mumbling suggestions at the red tiles of the high school lobby.

"Hey! Get your asses b-back here! I wanna talk to you!"

Reluctantly Kyle, Stan, and Kenny all gathered back around Butters.

"How should I get b-back at Mr. Knowles?"

"You should give him brownies with Exlax in them! That'd be cool!" Kenny snickered, earning him a skeptical look from Stan and an angered glare from Kyle.

"No, I mean, r-really mean."

"Cut class?"

"Goddamn it, Kenny," Kyle growled, shaking his head.

"Maybe…" Looking up at Kyle, Butters grinned. Kyle was officially pissed off, keeping his willowy arms crossed as he scowled down at Kenny. "M-maybe I'll cut class on Monday…"

* * *

The phone was ringing. Agitated that Terrance and Phillip had been so rudely interrupted, Kyle forced himself up and into the kitchen to pick up the phone after four annoying rings.

"Hello?"

"Um, Kyle, can I talk to your mother?" A female voice asked politely.

"Ok." Sighing, further angered, he yelled at his mom upstairs. As she appeared in the kitchen he began the short trek back to the couch.

If he hated anything, it was something interrupting Terrance and Phillip. Sure, it was a kiddish show he really didn't like anymore, but just for old times' sake…

"What about Stanley?" Sheila asked the woman on the other line, which drew Kyle back to the kitchen. He hovered outside the kitchen door, straining his ears to hear his mother's side of the conversation.

"I don't know. What did you say?"

That's weird… Kyle leaned on the wall, squishing one earflap of his hat on the yellow wallpaper.

"Yes, but just to make sure, what was it?"

Intrigued and confused, Kyle walked over to turn off the TV, making the conversation easier to eavesdrop on.

"Ok, Sharon. I won't say anything else to him. By the way, do you want to… oh. Sorry." Kyle heard the familiar slam of the phone he had used so often in the final days before several messy breakups. He shook off the thought of his bitchy exes to greet his mom coming out of the kitchen.

"Mom? What did Stan's mom want?" Kyle asked, feigning innocence horribly.

"Nothing, Buhbie," Sheila said dismissively, ambling past him and towards the couch.

"Are you sure?" Kyle, crossing his arms, hoped desperately that he could bleed an answer out of her.

"Yes, Kyle, I'm sure. Go get ready for supper." Turning back to him, she pointed up the stairs. Her expression told Kyle no more questions regarding the phone conversation were to be asked, and if he did he would get grounded for a month.

"Ok." As he looked up the flight, he dropped his arms to his sides and began climbing the stairs two at a time. Though he tried not to think about it, the thoughts of what his mom had said kept replaying in his mind. He wanted to know why they were talking about Stan. Kyle thought about calling Stan and asking, but ultimately decided against it. After all, he _could_ just ask Stan tomorrow.

* * *

Butters stuffed his hands in his pockets, squinting down the cracked asphalt street on the 'bad' side of town. In the light thrown by the one streetlight Kenny and Kevin hadn't vandalized, the dark green shack sat beside the pitiful street.

He stopped under the light, then decided that he was going to do it. He was going to invite Kenny to come hang out with him.

Soon he stood face to face with the front door, mustering up the courage to knock. He didn't notice the figure behind him, watching him from across the street.

Finally he hit a closed fist against the splintery wood three times. A man who Butters assumed was Kenny's dad flung the door open.

"Who the hell are you?" He more hollered than asked, swaying back and forth as he took a swig from his Budweiser.

"I'm B-Butters, one of Kenny's f-friends," Butters answered, stepping cautiously away from the drunken man.

"Oh." Kenny's dad turned into the house. "Kenny!! Kenny!! You've got a friend or something down here!" The only person who came forward was Kenny's mom.

"Kenny ran off somewhere. Sorry we couldn't help you," she told him flatly, holding a bag of ice on the eye her husband had just blackened. She managed a weak smile and slammed the door.

Disappointed, Butters tripped out of Kenny's yard and down the street. A few houses down, Butters saw his own personal hellhole looming in the distance.

"Butters?" A familiar voice asked from behind him.

"Wh-what?" Butters turned around, thinking he was being mugged. Instead, Kenny was stumbling towards him. "Oh, K-Kenny, it's just you. Sweet Jesus, you scared me!"

Kenny shrugged as he walked slowly up to Butters, a slight limp impeding his step. "Sorry. What did you come to my house for?"

"I wanted to know if you wanted to come over to my house."

"Sure. I haven't got anything better to do." Kenny finally caught up to him, grinning stupidly at him with a fat lip.

* * *

Cartman stared at nothing in particular out his window. A thoughtful, blank face stared back at him in the reflection in his window. The light from the full moon illuminated his face in an eerie way.

His expression was not one of pain, as one would think, but of relief and satisfaction. For the first time in a while, he didn't have an intense feeling of hate towards everything. He had his release. In his hand, glistening against the moonlight, he clutched a knife. Not just any knife. A knife he kept in his room, just for times like these.

He couldn't remember the first time he did it. But, as he glanced down at his left arm, he knew it would be all right. Although he still didn't know what 'it' was, he was sure the thing would be fine. Maybe 'it' was his life, maybe 'it' was the world. Not that anything really mattered.

Sighing, he threw the knife behind him, where it clattered against his wall, leaving a crimson splatter.

"Well, Peter Panda, I should be getting to bed," Cartman informed his beaten stuffed panda that the knife had landed on. "Saturday's gonna be real fun."

He fell back on his bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

"So, Stan, what did you do last night?" Kyle asked as casually as he could as he, Stan, Kenny, and Butters sat down at his kitchen table.

Stan smiled, remembering the interesting night he and Wendy wasted together. "Nothing much."

"R-really? Oh boy, me and Kenny stayed up all n-night watchin' porn," Butters volunteered.

"Sounds fun," Kyle laughed.

"What? What's fun?" Ike asked from his position sprawled on the floor in front of the TV.

"Watching TV and shutting up. That's _really_ fun," Kyle snapped, making Ike turn back to the news, a bit insulted. "Seriously, Stan. Your mom called for some reason, and our moms were talking about you."

Stan sat back in his chair. "Umm, really?"

"Yeah. They were saying something about what my mom said about you or something. It was weird." Kyle watched Stan try and act like he had no idea what the hell Kyle was talking about. It seemed more than obvious that Stan wanted to avoid the entire subject completely.

Kenny chewed at an edge of his grilled cheese sandwich. "I know," he suggested, getting everyone's attention. "Stan secretly likes Kyle, but doesn't want to tell him-"

"What?!" Kyle and Stan exploded. Stan thought he was going to die, and it looked to him like Kyle was having an argument with himself on how to kill Kenny.

"Hey, I call it as I see it," Kenny said defensively. "And, as I was saying-"

"Kenny…" Kyle growled through gritted teeth, raising a threatening fist .

"Dude, will you let me fucking finish?" Kyle barely complied, sitting back down and biting his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood. "Jeez. Anyway, Kyle's a bit of a homophobe and hates it when things aren't all the same and neat and perfect, so Stan knows he'd get his ass kicked if he told Kyle, if Kyle could kick his ass. There's my philosophy." Kenny leaned back, nibbling his sandwich and watching Stan and Kyle's reactions.

Stan bit his lip, avoiding eye contact with anyone, while Kyle glared at Kenny. Butters took turns looking at everyone sitting at the table, then started the giggle in spite of himself.

"Wow. Kenny, you should be a shrink or something," Stan said finally, changing the subject.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, switching his green-eyed glower towards his best friend. "So… Kenny's right?"

"Naw…" Stan laughed, hoping his act was convincing. "But it _was_ a pretty good psychoanalysis, dude. Do Butters!" Kyle, relieved, relaxed in his chair. Stan secretly wondered how Kenny had done it- Guessing everything about his feelings for Kyle, and pinning the redhead's exact tendencies.

Kenny held his chin in one hand and the sandwich in the other. "Well… Butters has an oppressed home life and constant ridicule has made him socially inadequate and awkward." Kenny stuck his tongue out at all of the big words.

"Come on, dude, tell us something we don't know!" Kyle demanded.

"Ok, ok. Butters wants to break away, prove he's something different that what people think he is. That's why he beat up Cartman."

"I-I do?" Butters asked.

"I dunno. Do you?" Kenny wondered around a mouthful of grilled cheese.

"Uh, n-no…"

"Huh. Then I'm wrong. That's weird, I've never been wrong before…" Kenny smiled deviously as he stuffed the remaining bit of sandwich in his mouth. The conversation quickly returned to normal, as everyone wanted it to.

* * *

"Whoa, Dude. Kenny was telling us some pretty weird shit," Kyle told Stan when Butters and Kenny had left and they were sitting in Kyle's room.

"Yeah… He could be a psychologist."

"I just hope he doesn't do it again. It was really freaky." Kyle leaned back on his bed, propping himself up on one elbow.

It was embarrassing.

When Stan didn't say anything, Kyle sighed. "What did you_ really_ do last night? Don't say 'nothing,' I know better!"

"Me and Wendy made out…" Stan grinned, remembering the night before.

"Great for you, man!" Kyle laughed, giving Stan a high-five. "It must be nice."

"What do you mean?" Stan looked behind him at Kyle, laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. Kyle shifted his green-eyed gaze to Stan, sitting at the corner of the big bed.

"Well, people like you better than me. The other day when you were so hungover you couldn't walk I had to hang around a bunch of losers all day."

"I didn't know you thought Kenny and Cartman were losers…" Stan joked, which only got him an irritated look.

"I'm trying to reveal something really deep that could add to the complexity of the story!"

"Oh. Well then who'd you hang around?"

"Some freak shows from North Park."

Uncomfortably Stan stared at a spot on Kyle's floor. He though of the troupes of girls that liked him and his other friends and acquaintances besides Kyle. When he tried to count them, he lost track in the thirties. If he ever wanted to, although he knew he wouldn't any time soon, he could break up with Wendy and have another equally horny girlfriend an arm's length away.

"Uh, maybe we could get Kenny's philosophy," Stan blurted, then felt really stupid.

Kyle laughed, his anger subsiding. "Maybe."

* * *

"Kenny, you think too m-much," Butters said dismally at the limping teen next to him. Already they were halfway up the street to Butters' house.

Kenny chuckled. "Not really."

Butters stood in front of the shorter blonde, stopping him in his tracks. "Th-then why were you telling us things about ourselves b-back at Kyle's? It was w-weird!" Butters' sudden anger, as most things did, struck Kenny as funny. Kenny's laughter only made Butters furious. "Wh-what the fuck are you laughin' at, K-Kenny?!"

"Butters," Kenny started, hoping he could get in a word that wasn't uttered through a snicker. "I'm not laughing at anyone. I'm laughing at nothing. Is that OK with you?" Trying to look serious, he folded his arms and tilted his fair-haired head up, examining Butters.

"F-fine, Kenny." Butters returned to normal, walking alongside Kenny for a few seconds filled with silence. He glanced at Kenny, who stared down at the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of dark gray pants that had seen better days. He had his famous orange hoody on, although it was unzipped and the hood was not covering two thirds of his face and muffling his speech. Kenny was the only freshman smaller than Butters, even if by two inches and ten pounds. Not only that, but he was the only person that was sort of nice to him, without the kindness being forced, and that made Butters respect him in an odd sort of way. Finally he blurted what he wanted to ask. "Um, K-Kenny, how do you do it, anyway?"

"Do what?" Kenny looked up, eyeing Butters, confused.

"Look into everyone's s-soul! It's m-messed up, y'know."

"Oh. That. Well…" Kenny glanced sideways, both embarrassed and flattered. " My parents taught me, through some serious abusive bullshit, to know people really well before you trust them, look into them, you know?"

"Oh. But s-still, how?"

Although Kenny was a bit agitated at Butters' blatant stupidity, he shrugged. "Beats me."

"OK, s-so how do your parents know how to d-do it and how did they teach you?"

Kenny sighed angrily. He hated thinking about his parents. He hated even being at his house unless he was asleep. "Butters, they can't do 'it,' which is why their lives are so fucked up. They blame each other for it when it's both their own fault," Kenny grumbled. He looked at Butters, dead serious. "Butters, I didn't get a fat lip from falling down last night like I told you. My mom hit me."

"Why?"

"Because she's a stupid bitch when she gets drunk." Kenny immediately changed the subject to something he could laugh about. "That porn was really something, huh, Butters?"

"Y-yeah…" Butters looked up at his house as they approached it. Beside him, Kenny sighed deeply, scowling at the side of Butters head.

Goddamn you. God-fucking-damn you.

* * *

DONE!! Yeah! Yup, now everyone's problems are evident.

-Cartman's depressed.

-Kenny's depressed.

-Kyle has low self-esteem.

-Stan's an airhead.

-Butters is probably depressed, too.

-everyone else has a problem, too, I swear.

I'm good! Next chappy, shit starts happening. I mean, the main conflict becomes clear when someone does something and something else happens. Oh, how I rejoice!!

It's halfway done!!!!!!!


	6. Sorry

A/N: I'm gonna put in more slash hintage just because…. I can! Ha… Anyway, the problem becomes evident in this chappy. I chopped a good 12-13 pages off of three separate chappies to make this, including a pointless sidetrack where Kenny's slutty ho-bitch ex girlfriend pointlessly walks in.

Huh.

It was pointless, but I'll try and work in some of the slash hintage and funny one-liners in.

* * *

"Cartman? What the hell do you want, fatass?" Kyle asked, opening the door to his house.

"Kyle, can I come in?" Cartman sighed, staring down at his black shoes. He was dressed for church, but looked less than pleased that he had to go. He chewed at his lip, making Kyle a little worried that something was up, as Cartman hadn't called him a 'dumb Jew' yet.

"No, dude. I gotta go to the Synagogue. Why aren't you at church?"

"Fuck church." Cartman stepped closer to Kyle, frowning up at him. "And fuck the synagogue. Kyle, I wanna talk to you."

"Dude-" Kyle could do nothing but open and close his mouth for a while, at a loss for words. Cartman hardly ever showed anything but hate towards him, and even when he didn't, his kindness was artificial or fake.

"Shut up! Now, how can someone stop doing something that they don't want to do but can't resist doing?"

"What? Cartman, you're not making any sense. What are you talking about? What do you want to stop doing?" Kyle failed miserably at hiding his annoyance.

"I can't say. But it's bad."

"I can't help you if you don't tell me, fatass!"

Sighing, Cartman rolled up the sleeve of his long dress shirt for church. He bit his lip, keeping his gaze on the deep green grass of the Broflovski's lawn. Already he was regretting going to Kyle for help. Why didn't he go tell Stan? Even Kenny would understand more than Kyle. Kenny was in the same boat, with a shitty family life and low morals, and no one to teach him right from wrong. He had always figured that Stan and Kyle were kind to everyone because they were taught to be so, or because they had some parents that cared. Cartman might have been nicer if his mother was around once in a while, and Kenny might have been less perverted if his father had hidden his porno mags better.

Although he resented Kyle for having a mom, dad, and a little brother, he really never minded him all that much. None of the guys he minded, even though he regularly spat hateful words at all of them. He mocked Kyle for anything and everything, he teased Stan about having a girlfriend, and he ripped on Kenny about being poor. He respected them for tolerating his antics, all of which he was starting to regret. It really surprised him that only Kenny kicked his ass anymore, and did a poor job doing so. The only person who actually seemed to really hate him was Butters, and, after a night of really thinking about it, he couldn't blame him.

"Holy shit, dude!" Kyle yelled, gaping at the self-inflicted scratches all the way up Cartman's forearm. "What the fuck did you do that for!?"

"Goddamn it, Kyle, it doesn't matter why! Just help me stop!"

"OK, dude. Just a minute." Kyle slammed the door, and Cartman was almost sure Kyle actually looked worried. At what, he couldn't say.

He shuffled his feet, sighed, and put his shirt sleeve back down. Whatever Kyle was doing seemed to take hours, only increased by his anxiety. Finally Kyle reappeared at the door, looking down at him. Cartman hated when he did that, and backed out of Kyle's long distorted shadow.

"Kenny's coming over."

"Kenny? Why?"

"Dude, you weren't at lunch yesterday. It was pretty deep, what Kenny said about Stan, Butters, and me."

"Yeah, right. Kenny couldn't be deep if.. If…" Cartman searched for a clever metaphor. "Um.. If he was in a huge ass cave! Or a whore!"

"You'll see." Kyle grinned, waving at Kenny, limping slowly down the street. Kenny flipped him off with the hand that wasn't clutching a coffee cup and a cigarette.

Kenny looked disgruntled, a look he rarely wore. Of course, Kenny was never a morning person. He stopped in front of Kyle's house, standing on the street. As he glanced from Kyle to Cartman, who both watched him intently, he alternated between drinking coffee and puffing on the cigarette. Like Stan, he only smoked when he was really pissed off, which disappointed Kyle a little. Finally Kenny tossed the butt of the cigarette on the ground and started towards the two. "You fucking woke me up, you motherfucker." Kenny glared up at Kyle as he hobbled closer, but didn't pose much of a threat. Kyle was easily a foot taller, and won the stare down taking place. "What the fuck do you assholes want, anyways?"

"Geez, Kenny, you don't have to go Cartman on us!" Kyle laughed, prompting Cartman to punch his arm in anger and Kenny to smirk a little.

"Sorry," Kenny laughed. "Now, seriously. This better be really fucking important." As he continued staring up at Kyle, his look turned cross again.

"It is." Kyle turned and led the two up the stairs of his house. He pushed open the door of his room and let Cartman and Kenny in before him.

Kenny glance around Kyle's room, wishing he had one similar. It was neat and tidy, with every piece of furniture aligned perfectly. The few bits of junk and little trinkets he had were even setting proudly on his dresser, in a perfect line. If everything in his room was white, it could have been a room in a psychiatric hospital.

Kyle pulled out the chair tucked nicely in into his desk and placed it by the bed. Pointing at it, he ordered Kenny to sit. "Cartman, lay down on my bed. If you mess it up, I swear, I'll kill you."

"What are you trying to prove, Kyle?" Cartman snorted, obeying Kyle by flouncing down on the bed. He smiled at Kyle gritting his teeth.

"Yeah!" Kenny added, a little slow to react. He turned to glare up at Kyle.

"Nothing." Kyle sat on top of his desk, watching Kenny and Cartman staring at him from across the room. "Well? Cartman?"

"Ok, ok…" Cartman pulled up the silky material of his dress shirt's sleeve, showing Kenny his left arm.

"Whoa… Dude." Kenny sniffed, then leaned back on the chair. After drinking the last measly sip of cold coffee he had, he held the cup out to Kyle. "Fill that up, asshole."

Annoyed, Kyle hopped off his desk and snatched the cup. He looked down at Kenny, who held up two fingers, indicating that he wanted two sugars.

"AY! Get me some coffee, too, Jew!"

"Fuck you," Kyle growled as he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

"Well, Cartman, why do you do it?" Kenny started.

"Do what?"

Kenny pointed to Cartman's arm. "That."

"Well, I have my reasons, Blondie!"

Smiling, Kenny crossed his own scarred arms across his narrow ribs. "Okay… why do you call us all names, then?"

"No reason…"

"Sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, Kenny!"

"I'm back," Kyle said flatly, pushing his door open with a bony shoulder blade. In each hand he held a coffee cup. One was cracked and plain white, obviously Kenny's, and the other was dark blue, with the words, "Home Economics MATTERS!" printed in plain text on one side. He passed the white one to Kenny and set the blue one down on his bedside table for Cartman. "Anything else?"

"No," both Kenny and Cartman answered.

"Good." After Kyle resumed his position nestled on his neat desk, Kenny looked over at Cartman again.

"You're sure you don't have a reason for calling us all names?"

"I already said yes, Kenny! What the fuck!?" Cartman took his turn glaring angrily at Kenny.

"Just making sure. Now, why do you cut yourself?"

As Cartman thought of an answer that wouldn't trap him in a corner, Kenny downed the coffee.

"Kenny! I made that coffee with precision and care… and you drink it all in one sip!? I put-"

"Kyle, shut your stupid mouth," Cartman commanded, which struck Kenny and Kyle dumb and then made them nearly piss themselves laughing. "AY! I have severe emotional trauma going on here!"

Kenny sat back up from his position doubled over on the chair. He looked somewhat professional. "Well?"

"Uh, well, I don't got a fucking dad! Remember?"

"No, you don't have a mom."

"That, too…"

"Is another reason because we make fun of your fat ass?"

"Kenny!"

"Well?"

"Um, yes. And you guys never even pretended to like me…" Cartman bit his lip, and across the room Kyle raised a surprised eyebrow.

"Cartman, you didn't pretend to like us."

"AY! This is about _me_, Kenny!"

"OK. Yeah. You really like attention. Without attention, you don't feel loved and, us, we never paid much attention to you."

"What the hell? Now _you're_ telling me what I like and how I feel? Kenny I swear, I-" Cartman stood up, waving a threatening fist in Kenny's face.

"Goddamn it, Cartman! I'm trying to fucking help you. Now sit your fat ass down and listen." Only when Cartman obeyed did Kenny continue. "Anyway, you think that cutting yourself gets you attention, but your mom doesn't notice and we 'wouldn't care.'"

"Kenny, what are-"

"So is Kenny right?" Kyle asked eagerly, growing a bit interested in the debate happening between his friends.

"Uh…"

"Kyle, gimme something to write on, so I can look even more professional."

Kyle tossed one of his readily available notepads at Kenny, then followed with a pen. Kenny jotted down some things with the pen, his morning stupor smudging the notes terribly. "Shit…" As he tried to salvage the notes, he rubbed them even more all over the paper. "Fucking pen…" After giving up on the words that now resembled a watercolor ocean, he glanced up at Cartman.

The teenager on the bed was staring, pissed off, at Kyle, who glared back. Kenny's laughter broke the tension.

"I love you guys. I really do."

* * *

Stan pinned the picture up on the wall next to his bed and stared up at it. It was an ugly little thing, but kept it because Wendy had made him. Even looking at it made him recall that night's events, as odd as they were.

He stood there, a bit stupidly so, with his arm awkwardly around Wendy. He had his weight balanced on one foot, and the other hand in the pocket of the Ugliest Dress Pants in the World. To match the Ugliest Dress Pants in the world, his mom had made him wear the Ugliest Dress Shirt in the World. His black hair was slicked back, and looked terrible, as no hats were allowed, being considered 'too casual.' He honestly didn't see how half the girls in the entire town could think he was cute. He quickly switched his gaze to the black haired beauty, and felt turned on all over again.

The previous year, for their last year as middle schoolers, their parents forced them all to dress up nice and go to the middle school gym for three hours of uncomfortable stuffiness and graceless slow dances. Stan had gotten an instant erection at Wendy's super short dress and had excused himself to go jack off in the bathroom. Also in the bathroom taking care of pesky hardons he'd seen Butters, Clyde, Tweek, and Kyle. The memory itself made him laugh a little, remembering everyone uncomfortably looking around as they jacked it. Kenny had walked in with Cartman and they both almost died laughing.

He smiled and slid his hand down his pants, then fell asleep that way.

* * *

For some reason, Butters had joined Kenny in moping around in the corner.

"What is with you guys?" Stan asked, annoyed, as the group gathered around the two in the lobby.

"N-nothing', Stan," Butters mumbled into his knees.

"Kyle, do you know?" Stan glanced toward Kyle, next to him.

"They had a party last night and now they're paying for it."

"Why didn't you invite me?"

"I d-did." Butters raised a sleepy head, looking up at the black-haired teen in front of him. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. "B-but your mom said you was doin' your huh-homework."

"Yeah…"

"K-Kenny and Kyle could actually come, though."

Kyle grinned at Stan as his friend glared at him. "I didn't stay long…" he said in his own defense.

"Y-you're goddamn right you didn't stay l-long! You came and saw some g-girls you didn't like and l-left!"

"Sorry… but my mom won't let me stay at wild parties all night like Kenny's parents."

"It w-wasn't _that_ wild…" Butters admitted, then remembered all the sex that had been going on. "Uh, except for the sex."

"There was sex!?" Stan and Kyle yelled together, which drew some curious eyes.

"Yessiree!" Kenny answered cheerily, struggling against gravity to get up and failing.

"Son of a bitch! Butters, you're telling me that I could've been at your house boning actual chicks instead of falling asleep jacking off to some old picture!?" Stan reasoned angrily.

"Again?" Butters, Kyle, and Kenny all chorused, amazed.

"Ha ha, funny." Stan rolled his hazel eyes.

"Dude… help me up," Kenny ordered Kyle, who held his arm out for Kenny to grab on to. Kyle lifted Kenny up almost effortlessly. "Thanks."

"Was the party _that_ good, Kenny?"

"It was pretty good." Kenny leaned against the wall to support the weight of his body thathis legs, in their current hungover state,could barely support.

"Was it _really_ good?"

"I've been to better parties, where I've actually gotten laid."

"Wait…" Kyle interrupted. "You mean… you, Kenny, the king o f sex at a ridiculously young age, didn't get laid?" They all gasped when Kenny shook his head no.

"Come on… I gotta wake up. Let's go play that gay British game," Kenny said as he started towards the open gym doors.

"You mean Pickle ball?" Stan clarified.

"Whatever. Me and Butters verses you and Kyle!" Kenny ran into the gym, closely followed by Butters, Stan, and Kyle.

* * *

"S-sorry I'm so b-bad, Kenny," Butters apologized dismally.

"Naw, it's not your fault. Stan's just good at every sport ever invented," Kenny told Butters, glaring playfully at Stan.

"Hey, I'm bad at soccer," Stan reminded them.

"You suck, man," Kenny laughed, punching Stan's arm lightly.

"What?"

"Nothing. All that Pickle ball got me thinking…" Kenny turned to rush down the hallway towards something obviously important.

"Wh-where are you goin'?" When Kenny kept on walking, the other three he had left behind followed him to the art room. He waited outside the door, ignoring questions thrown at him, until the bell rang only a minute later and the Art Club's members walked out. The three boys watched Kenny tap a pretty sophomore girl on the shoulder and ask her out. After she nodded yes, embarrassed, she hurried to her next class.

"Whoa, dude," Kyle whispered to Stan as the girl shouldered past them. "She is _fine_."

Stan agreed, but thought, in the back of his mind, of Kyle. _You are much finer, Kyle._ He drove the thought even farther back in his head, but it roared back with a ferocity. Stan liked Kyle, but wasn't sure how to tell him yet. He had a feeling that Kyle might have caught on, and hoped the opposite. Knowing Kyle's family's take on anything even slightly different from the normal and predictable, he figured that the results would be disastrous. He wasn't even sure how much he liked Kyle. Maybe he didn't like him at all. _You don't like guys, you fucking homo. Especially not Kyle. Not Kyle._

"Well?" Kenny was staring at Stan, who had a feeling that he'd missed something important

"What?"

"I said, don't you think she's pretty?"

"What?" Stan thought of Kenny's many other girlfriends, and he'd never called any of them 'pretty.' Just 'a sweet piece of ass' or 'hot,' but never pretty. For that reason, most girlfriends dumped him within minutes.

"Goddamn it, Stan! If you're not gonna waste the first ten minutes of class with me, then leave!"

"You said she was pretty… you've never called anyone pretty before…"

"So?" The others contested.

"It's just… weird."

"Not really," Kyle said dismissively, not wanting to talk about girlfriends since he was the only one of them without one. "Let's get to geography before someone bitches us out. Come on, Butters." Kyle and Butters turned to go to their lockers, determinedly wasting as much time as possible.

"I gotta go. Have fun in English," Stan told Kenny.

"Right!" Kenny whooped, joining the two teenagers in their slowed search through junked-up lockers.

* * *

"Young man, we have to talk," Butters' mom informed her son as he walked through the front door.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" Butters' already huge gray eyes widened at the porn tape his mom held in her hand.

"Young man, I found this in your closet. But that's not all I found." She waved her hand behind her, where a stack of porno magazines and tapes teetered next to each other. Scattered around them were some used condoms from Butters' wild party, various alcoholic items, and a balled up bloody towel.

"M-Mom, I-"

"Save it, Butters. We're sending you to military school! Go pack; you leave in three hours!"

"Y-yes, ma'am." Butters obeyed dismally, absentmindedly climbing the stairs. Once in his room, his anger could surface and he started smashing things randomly. He cleared off his entire desk, threw all of his clothes on the floor, and knocked over all the furniture he could manage. When his room was a complete disaster area, he sank to his knees in the middle of it all and started crying, bawling, letting out all of his sadness that was overpowering his anger.

"I'm sorry, Son," his dad said without a hint of emotion as he opened Butters' door.

"D-Dad! Tell mom that-"

"I already tried."

"B-but all that stuff you taught m-me about stickin' up for myself, wh-what about that, D-Dad?"'

"Get packing." A swift kick in the side and a punch in the jaw left Butters huddled on the floor, biting back the angry tears he did not want his father to see. The man he had so come to hate shut his door, leaving him alone again.

* * *

"Kenny! Git down here! It's time for supper!" Kenny's mom called, her speech impaired by it's usual southern slur and drunken babble.

"Kenny," the girl grunted from under her boyfriend. "Shouldn't we go eat now?"

"Just a minute…" Kenny planted one more loving kiss on her forehead and got off of her. After throwing her clothes to her, he hunted for his pants. The two dressed in silence, then, hand in hand, walked downstairs together, positively beaming.

"What the hell are you two so goddamn happy about!?" Kenny's dad yelled drunkenly. He turned his drunken anger on Mrs. McCormick, who was digging waffles out of the freezer. "What's taking so long, you fucking bitch!?"

"Nothing! Kenny, sit down. Is this girl eating, too?" Kenny's mom asked, turning.

"Sure."

"What do you think we are, a food bank? Jesus Christ… Fucking little girlfriends wanna stay for supper…" Susan mumbled, throwing the box of frozen waffles on the table.

A loud ring interrupted whatever other insults Kenny's mom was about to throw at them under her breath. Kenny rushed to get it, just for an excuse to be out of the kitchen.

"Hello?"

"Kenny? Get over here, hurry," Stan commanded.

"Why?" The dial tone was his only answer. Irritated, Kenny ran back upstairs and threw on an orange hoody over his dirty tee shirt. As he pulled the hood on, he smiled in spite of himself. He stopped in the hallway and looked in the kitchen.

"Kenny? Where are you going?" The girl wondered, looking at him oddly.

"Stan's house." Kenny's familiar mumbling was back, and when the girl only stared incomprehensively, he took the hood off and said it again. Hesitantly, he hurried into the kitchen and gave her a quick kiss, then pulled his hood back on and ran out the front door and up the street.

* * *

Whoa, dude. Haha, I lied. Next chappy has all the 'problems suddenly become clear' shit in it. Sorry is I hyped up everyone. (Yeah right...) :P 


	7. Steak And Potatoes

A/N: Fuck. Fucking Microsoft Word sucks ass! In this chappy the times are all different. I modeled this part after Stephen King's "Carrie," not only in writing style but in content. (In other words, lotsa flashbacks and flash forwards)

LOTSA GORE, BIOTCH!

Meh, anyway, on with story.

………………………………................................................

Kyle sighed as he walked to Stan's house. Around him, darkness silhouetted his figure, huddled against the rain. He knew whatever Stan wanted was important, but didn't really care. The rain pouring down over him further added to his headache and terrible mood.

Finally he stopped in front of Stan's house. He squinted through the monsoon at it, just to be sure it was really there, and started towards it. As he did so, he took his hat off to wring the water out of it. A door snapped open in front of him, and someone grabbed him and pulled him in.

"Stan?"

"Shh…" Stan was leaning up against the door, locking the twelve locks running down it. He wore a look of paranoia that scared Kyle a little. "Go up to my room and-"

"But Stan, I left my hat outside-"

"Forget it!" Stan turned abruptly, and he looked a bit like Tweek, having had a bit too much coffee. He clutched Kyle's wrist and pulled the redhead towards him. "Listen, you're not fucking safe out there! Now go up to my room, stay there, and don't ask and Goddamn questions! Do you hear me?" Stan tightened his grip.

"Fine! Just get your fucking hand off me!" Stan let go and watched Kyle stumble up the stairs.

……………………………….............................................................................

Kenny didn't know why he was walking fast. The hoodie he'd always felt so comfortable in may have offered him protection from the rain, but his many deaths had always been in that hoodie.

Sighing, he quickened the pace until Stan's house came into view. The rain started coming faster, in sheets, as he wandered through Stan's muddy front yard. He knocked on the door and waited until it opened to act bewildered.

"What's this all about?" He asked through the hood.

"Sh!" A person pulled him inside and locked the twelve locks on the door. "Kenny, go up to my room. I'll be up in second," Stan said in a calm voice strained by fear and frustration.

"Stan, what the hell did you make me-"

"Just do it!" Stan violently shoved Kenny towards the steps.

"Fine! God…" Kenny complied, stomping up the stairs. The last thing he wanted was to fight Stan, and not because he was a chicken. He couldn't kick Stan's ass simply because Stan was bigger than him, like everyone else.

When he opened the door to Stan's room, he raised a skeptical eyebrow.

………………………………..............................

"Butters? Are you ready?"

"Y-Yes, Ma'am," Butters answered solemnly, sitting down at the dinner table. His light eyes kept to the table for fear of what he might see if he looked up.

"Here, sweetheart. This is your last meal here, so enjoy it." A decorative blue and white plate heaping with mashed potatoes and steak entered his line of vision. He picked up the steak knife without seeing it, and started cutting the meat. The scraping of a chair on floor was heard, followed by another.

"Butters, don't forget to say grace," his father reminded him.

"Y-yes, sir." Setting the knife down, he clasped his hands together, but did not pray.

I'll show you. I'll show you all.

As he picked up the knife again, he smiled.

……………………………….............................................

"Ready?" Wendy asked, glancing at Stan.

"Yup. Let's go," Stan agreed, starting up the stairs to his room.

"Ok." Wendy followed him up, watching him prepare for what he was about to do. "You're so sexy when you're saving the entire town from sure destruction."

"Wendy, if there weren't a hundred people in my room right now, I'd totally do you." Grinning, he twitched his raven-haired head towards the door he stood outside of, and started in with her.

The crowd quieted at his arrival, all eyes going towards him. He swallowed all of the apprehension he could, and started explaining. "Ok. We have to get out of South Park. I called the bus driver and he'll pick us up soon, to take us to North Park."

"Why?" Kyle asked from his place sitting on Stan's bed along with five other people. His arms were crossed, and had evidently not enjoyed the few minutes spent inside Stan's room along with most of their classmates. As he glared at Stan, a tired hand kept tangled into his revealed red curls, annoying him. The hand belonged to Kenny, who leaned drowsily on him, staring at Stan through half-opened eyes.

"Because I said so. Besides, if we stay in South Park, we'll be in serious shit. Now everyone come downstairs or I'll kick your assess."

"Oh, Stan, you're so sexy when you're angry!" Wendy giggled, hugging Stan. Seeming to awaken suddenly, Kenny hopped off the bed, ripping out a good portion of Kyle's hair as he did.

What he said was a muffled rant at Stan that few even understood. Those that did started laughing. Timmy and Jimmy joined him, and Craig and Tweek joined them, all of them undoubtedly swayed by what Kenny had said. Soon the only person still not convinced was Kyle.

"Come on, man," Stan begged, not really wanting to beat up Kyle.

"Why the hell did you make me walk over here in the rain? Now you want me to go to North Park and you're not even saying why! Goddamn it, Stan, you're wasting my time!" Kyle grumbled, glaring at Kenny as he rubbed the section of his hair that had been uprooted.

"Kyle, can you _please_ trust my judgment, just this once?"

"Why?"

"Because! I swear, we can't stay in South Park!"

"But what about everyone else?"

"The other bus drivers are picking them all up. Now, please, Kyle, come on!" Reluctantly Kyle got off the bed. The crowd was disappointed at not seeing a fight that Stan would have easily won. "Alright, let's go downstairs and wait."

Stan led the pack down the stairs.

………………………………..................................

"Did you enjoy your supper, Butters?" Mrs. Stotch asked over her shoulder, while she and her husband rinsed their plates with a jet of warm water from the faucet.

"Yes, Ma'am," Butters answered, clutching the knife. He prepared himself for what he was about to do as he walked slowly towards the two at the sink, plate and fork in one hand, knife in the other. "I liked it a l-lot."

"Great, Butters. Go get your bag, ok?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Stopping behind them, he raised the knife. His hand trembled, he hesitated, and knew he didn't want to do it, didn't _need_ to, but, even so, his shaky hand smashed down.

Immediately his dad fell down. Mrs. Stotch turned to see why and caught a fork in the esophagus. She gagged, trying in vain to pull it out, staggering backwards and into the counter. Wide-eyed, Butters watched the river of blood starting to trail down her white apron. When she fell, the back of her head hit hard on the sharp edge of the counter and the flat, smooth linoleum.

"M-Mom?"

"Butters!" His dad grabbed at Butter's ankle, but a plate smeared with the remnants of mashed potato and steak dropped on his head, quieting him instantly. Angered, Butters knelt down to pull the jagged knife out of his father's shoulder muscle.

He cocked his head, examining it. A bit of muscle still hung on it's teeth, and the flat part of it shone red in the light. He glanced at his dad, laying there staring up at him, writhing in pain, one hand crossed over a thick chest to hold the injured shoulder. An eerily happy grin spread on his pale face, and he knew what he wanted to do.

(1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10...11… I could do this all day)

When his dad's screaming coughed to a halt he frowned a little, glaring down at the cadaver that had been his father. The seventeen stab wounds littered all over his abdomen all seemed to ooze gallons of blood, which flowed silently onto the white floor, splaying out from the body. His face hung in a permanent open-mouthed stare of surprise, and the dark blue eyes were colder than they ever had been, watching the crimson lake grow, but not seeing it. The knife lay somewhere in the pool, drowning in the tides it had caused.

"N-no…N-NO! Shit… sh-shit!" Butters scrambled to his feet, realizing what he had just done. Stepping delicately behind him, he breathed heavy with the rush of adrenaline. His boot crushed something, and when he looked he saw his mother staring up at him, whimpering at the hand caught under his foot. "M-mom?"

She gurgled a terrified answer, causing the blood running out of her nose in thick blobs to slide down her cheek faster. Beside her, her only son dropped down to his knees next to her.

"S-sorry, mom, s-sorry…" Butters sighed vaguely, groping around behind him for the knife. A single tear dripped down his chin and onto his mother's arm when his hand closed around it.

In a swift movement he slit her throat. As he stared down at her, dying an agonizing death, he wiped away one more tear, smearing blood all over the side of his face.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, s-sorry…" Trying not to sob violently, Butters stood up. He refused the strong urge to glance down as he surreally dug through the silverware drawer for a butchers knife. He finally found one, and was preparing to slip the cold steel across his own neck when a knock at the door sent the knife clattering to the floor. Picking it up, he inched towards the door with it hidden behind his back. His left hand closed around the handle of the door and slowly pulled it open.

"Hello, Butters," Officer Barabrady said in his usual stupid tone. "I got a report that someone heard screams or someone being killed or something. Mind if I take a look inside?"

Shaking his head, Butters moved to let him in.

"Hmm, it sure is red in here. Did you spill some paint out in the kitchen and walk through it?" The officer asked, staring down at the bloody footprints Butters' boots had made on the rug.

"Y-yeah. That's what I did." Butters watched him walk ahead of him, then decided where he would stab him first. He readied the knife and then struck, severing the spine of officer Barabrady.

As he watched him fall he took the gun from the officer's holster. Aiming it at the back of the lone cop's head, he fired. A mix of blood and brains flew everywhere, mottling everything.

"Eww…" Butters growled, pulling the knife out and slowly standing back up. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and shot at it, frowning crossly. Throwing on a coat, he stepped out the front door, nearly smiling at the slow drizzle. "I'll show them. I'll show them all."

……………………………….......................................

Glad that's finished….. Anyway have a kickass Christmas everyone, and a yee-haw new year. I hope everyones Hannukah was hell-raising, and for those of you celebratin' Kwanza, may it kick ass!!!

(Next chap up soon….)


	8. Green

A/n: sorry I didn't get to this sooner. I've been playing the Sims 2 for a week straight since Christmas…..

Oh yes, there is slash, not much, but its implied between just about everyone/everyone. Hope all the presents everyone got kicked a lot of ass.

Ah, on with the slaughter!

……………………………….

Wendy grinned down at everyone standing awkwardly in Stan's living room. They all glared back at her, standing in an S-curve on the stairs, one hand on one jutting hip. A few steps below, Stan glanced back at her, giving her a skeptical smirk.

"Can we hurry this Kodak moment up?" Kenny growled, pulling off his hood. He squinted up at the two on the staircase, much like everyone else, with his arms crossed. Next to him, Kyle looked equally displeased.

"Alright," Stan agreed, grabbing Wendy's hand and leading her down the stairs. He stopped near Kenny, who made no attempt at saying anything.

"When is the bus gonna get here, man? This is too much pressure!" Tweek panicked, jumping towards Stan from a dark corner. "I gotta get outta here…. Oh man…"

"You're a freak," Kenny spat, shoving Tweek out of the range of all of them.

"AH!" Tweek wandered off somewhere, twitching nervously.

Kenny got stares from Kyle, Stan, and even Wendy, but didn't explain himself. A squeal of brakes outside stopped anyone from asking, and the crowd pushed through the door of Stan's house.

The rain had gotten worse, though no one had ever thought that such a phenomenon was possible. The school bus driver waited patiently for everyone to get on the bus, then drove off. Few were seated, and bodies tumbled and tangled together as the big vehicle lurched forward.

………………………………....................................................................................

Butters grinned up at the shop. _Jimbo's Guns_. Despite the rain, he felt happy. Pulling his dampened coat around his tiny shoulders, he started in. The bell connected to the door rang as he walked in, causing Jimbo to look up from his deer hunting magazine.

"Well, hello, Butters. Been painting something red?" Jimbo greeted, noticing the smudge of blood on Butters' left cheek. _I hope it's paint…_

"Y-yes, sir," Butters agreed, and his voice lacked its happy, paranoid quality.

"Well, what can I do for ya?"

Pulling out the gun smeared with his parent's blood, Butters smiled darkly. "Can I trade this gun in for, oh, s-say, all of them?"

"No… uh, can you stop pointing that at me? Please?" Jimbo started reaching somewhere behind the counter for his own gun.

"N-no, I can't." Raising the gun to Jimbo's head, he frowned. "Don't do it."

"No, of course not, Butters. Take all the guns you want!" Jimbo groped around behind him for some guns, then set them on the counter separating him and Butters.

"Th-thank you sir." After grabbing the three guns, Butters pulled the trigger and watched Jimbo sink to the floor, a bullet between his eyes.

"Jimbo?" A mechanical voice asked from behind Butters. "Oh my God. Jimbo." Ned was leaning over Jimbo's dead body when Butters cast a shadow over him.

Ten minutes later, as he walked down the street, Butters held, in his freshly rebloodied hand, Ned's broken glasses.

………………………………...........

"Stan, why are we going to North Park, anyway?" Kyle asked, turning in his seat to look at Stan, behind him.

"Well…" Stan scratched at the back of his head. Nervously ha looked out the window, searching for any sign of the destruction that Butters had caused. When he saw some blood he pointed to it, steering Kyle's eyes out the window.

Through the dingy bus window, Kyle noticed the windows of Tom's Rhinoplasty smashed. Under the window, Tom lay, most of his insides reddening the sidewalk.

"Holy shit…" Kyle murmured, poking Kenny, next to him, between two protruding ribs. "Look, dude."

"Whoa…" Kenny said, leaning over Kyle's lap to look. A glance later he quickly sat back, thanking Stan over and over in his head.

Wendy, sitting beside Stan, complained that she was going to puke after seeing the carnage that was Main Street. "Hold me, Stan," she commanded, reaching over to hug him not only for support but to feel his hard body against hers.

Stan wrapped his arm around her and stared out the window. Behind the bus, two other busses were trailing. The other four busses were still gathering people. From the very back seat where he and Wendy sat he could hear them, especially Mrs. Crabtree's, with its bad brakes.

Although everyone was talking at once, Kyle heard his own thoughts very clearly. As usual, Kenny wasn't making much conversation, except for the occasional complaint about Stan's secrecy. The blonde's big blue eyes were glazed over, like fish eyes, staring at the back of the seat in front of them. Finally his eyes snapped onto Kyle, who'd been staring to avoid looking out the window he leaned against.

"What are you looking at?"

Kyle shrugged. "You."

"Why?"

"I'm _not_ looking out that Goddamn window."

Kenny managed a grin. "It's pretty bad… Why don't you stare at some girl, you homo?"

"I don't know," Kyle said honestly.

"Well then stare at me. I don't give a fuck." Uncomfortably Kenny shifted his glance towards the bus driver, who was driving the bus worse than a drunken monkey. "Hey!" He yelled at the old man. "Pay attention to the road, buddy!"

"Shut up and sit down!" Token commanded from the right side of the bus in the last seat. "I'm tryin' to enjoy a-"

"Sh!" Bebe clapped the hand that wasn't down Token's pants over his mouth.

Seeing what was happening, Kenny started laughing hysterically. Beside him, Kyle grinned at the sight, remembering Bebe offering him the same when they were dating.

"Well, I'm glad you can find some humor in this," Wendy scolded Kenny, standing up to peer down at him. "Oh yes, we all _love_ laughing at depraved sexual urges."

"No… just Kenny," Kyle told Wendy.

"Seriously. Sometimes I don't know how you got so… giggly."

"That's not a word," Stan corrected, pulling Wendy back down by the shoulder.

"So? I can make up words if I want to." Playfully she crossed her arms. "God, Stan, you're so sexy when you're being an asshole."

"She thinks Stan's sexy when he does anything," Kyle muttered to Kenny, who nodded, smiling widely.

"Wendy's hornier than I could ever be," Kenny whispered back. "But Stan hasn't realized it yet."

"Nope." Kyle looked behind them, where Wendy was the aggressor of a moderately sexual make-out session with Stan. Wendy's pawing and obvious desire to get into Stan's pants was mostly rejected. Grinning again, Kyle turned back around, and in doing so caught a glimpse of the South Park welcome sign, splattered with blood.

He had a bad feeling.

……………………………….....................................................

Not knowing or caring where he was going, Butters traipsed down Main Street, shooting the few people out in the rain. Most of the time he missed, but a few steps closer and another shot took them down.

Hearing a car approaching, Butters dove into the bushes in front of someone's store. Aiming the gun out of the side of the bush, Butters shot whoever was driving the green station wagon. As he jumped out of the bushes, he immediately regretted it.

"Chef?" Butters gasped at the car, hurrying to it. "N-no…. n-not Chef!" He opened the driver door and pulled the dieing man out.

"Ugh," Chef grunted when he hit the tar. "Butters? What… what the heck… something hit me…"

"I did, chef, s-sir." Sighing, Butters heaved chef across the road.

"Why, Butters?"

"I-I don't know. I'm sorry, s-sir." Finally, when the task of dragging Chef across the road was finished, Butters fell to his knees next to Chef. "Any l-last requests, sir?"

"What? Butters, I-" Chef felt the cold, hard metal of a gun pressed between his eyes. "Butters, you don't want to do this…"

"You don't know what I want, s-sir!" Butters cried, wiping his face again. "Any… l-last requests, s-sir?"

"Butters, please don't-"

"Shut up! Shut your G-Goddamn mouth or I'll kill you, too! J-just like everyone else!" Fighting back sobbing, Butters looked away. "What's your last r-request, chef?"

"Uh…. Can I say goodbye to everyone?"

"N-no!"

"Ok, then, can you say goodbye to them for me, Butters?"

"I… will. I p-promise."

"Good." Chef shut his eyes and waited for the end.

BANG

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm s-sorry," Butters sobbed as he slowly lifted himself up from the bloody mess that had been Chef's head. "S-sorry."

He got in Chef's Station wagon, which was still running. He drove off well enough, hurrying as much as possible while still driving fairly safely to get away from Chef. Butters made his slow progression towards the residential part of South Park.

………………………………............................

"Wendy, stop!" Stan pushed Wendy's hands away from his inner thighs in an almost violent way. "We're close… There's the dirt road we go on…"

As predicted, the bus full of now silent teenagers pulled onto the dirt road.

"Stan, I'm scared," Bebe confided, staring, unblinking, from the seat across from him.

"Well, uh, It's all going to be OK!" Stan told everyone. Though he didn't reassure himself, the senseless chatter started back up again. "Jesus… I hope this works…"

"It will. Now, in case we _do_ die, will you fuck me so we both don't die virgins? _Please?!_" Wendy begged, tugging at Stan's Tee-shirt in a vain attempt to pull him close to her.

"Wendy, I'll do you later. Right now ask Kenny about it."

"Ok…" Wendy tapped Kenny on the shoulder with one hand, keeping the other firmly furrowing in Stan's shirt.

"What?" Kenny's Blond head popped up over the seat.

"Kenny, what's sex like?"

Grinning, Kenny shook his head. "I get this all the time."

……………………………….....................................................

Butters pulled Chef's car into a driveway. Stepping out, he grinned evilly at the dark green house.

"T-time to p-pay." He took out Officer Barabrady's gun and put on Ned's smashed glasses. The rain pounded relentlessly on his shoulders as he approached the door of the house, gun ready. He hit his fist against the door three times and raised the gun.

A few minutes later, an angered Cartman threw the door open.

"Butters? What the hell do you want, you-"

Cartman was interrupted by a gunshot. Butters stepped over the body in the doorway.

"Pookie? I heard a sound; are you OK?" Mrs. Cartman asked, worried, as she hurried into the living room in her sloppily tied bath robe. Closely following he, Mr. Mackey struggled into his pants.

Alarmed, Butters quickly shot and wounded them both. As he began to leave the scene, Mr. Mackey looked up at him from the pool of blood bathing his long, skinny body.

"What's this all about, mmmkay? I'm sensing some, uh, very deep emotional issues. You wouldn't shoot all of us for no good reason, right, Butters? Because most killings have motives, mmmkay."

"M-Mr. Mackey, thanks for trying." Another shot rang out, and Butters dashed back to the green car. Backing haphazardly out, he continued down the street, running over those unlucky enough to be out on the street in the monsoon.

………………………………..............................................................

Upstairs in Wendy's room, Stan and Wendy worked together on some math not fully understood by either of them.

"….Ok, so now we divide 73, right?" Stan asked, confused.

"No! Goddamn it, I told you, you've got to square it first! You're so sexy when you're stupid…"

"OK. So that's…" Stan scratched out some math on the margin of the paper. "5305. Now what?"

"Well-" Wendy was interrupted by the squealing of tire on road outside Stan's house. "What the hell was that?"

Both teenagers rushed towards the window and peeked out.

"Whoa, dude!" they both exclaimed at Butters driving a car down the road, squashing several unlucky people under the tires.

"Dude, Butters is fucked up! We've got to tell people!"

"We're going to your house, Stan." Wendy clarified, her look hesitant.

"Yup…"

Wendy led the rush downstairs to her parents.

……………………………….........................................................

OK, some main characters died. That's sad…… Next chappy up as soon as I can pry my eyes off of the Sims 2.…. Ha!


	9. R

A/N: what the fuck. This chapter is so fucked up. It's got more killing, more finding, more really random fucked up crimes. Yay.

……………………………….....

Butters stopped the car in front of one more place. His now maniac face grinned up through the rain and blood splattered window of Chef's car at the elementary school. He only wanted one person in there dead, and actually _did _want it. Finally he shut the door of the green car, his feet in a mud puddle, small puff of hair plastered to his forehead with blood and rain water. As he dug the knife out of his coat pocket, he started towards the entrance.

Inside, two janitors mopped the hallways in an almost cheery way, erasing the muddy footprints off of the tile floor. They never noticed Butters, who had taken a bit of time to look at the lockers, memories flooding through his fogged mind. A certain locker had the word "SLUT" running vertically down it, taking up all of the space on its mucky gray surface. Hadn't that one been…? Another, one he remembered, for it had been his own, was scribbled on horribly, in everything from permanent marker to colored pencils. Illegible words on it may have said something like 'fag,' or 'fuck you,' although Butters had never bothered trying to find out.

Suddenly he snapped his sights back on the janitors, still cleaning busily, headphones blaring country songs into ears that didn't care anyway. The one closest to him got it first.

Because of his short stature, Butters had to try and mortally wound the taller man in an easy way. Since the man, whose overall appearance was similar to that of Mario, was slouched over the mop, Butters shoved the knife into the spot where the man's fat chin met his even fatter neck. He heard a crack, and knew the knife was long enough to go all the way through his brain stem, as the edge was sticking out of the back of his massive neck to greet Butters. When he tried to pull it out, he couldn't. Still, he refused to let go of the handle, even as the janitor toppled over and into the mop bucket, dragging the teenager with him.

"What the hell are you doing?" The other janitor, a woman, asked, horrified. She clutched the mop like it would save her, and might have, if she had kept hold of it.

Butters leapt to his feet, grabbing 'Mario's' mop as he did so. The woman screeched, dropping her own. Before the handle even hit the floor, another crack rang through the hall as a thin, smooth piece of wood broke over the side of her head. Butters didn't bother to wait for her to drop. He turned again, practically diving to the man. He tugged and strained on the knife, but it wouldn't budge.

A second later he began sawing with it, feeling its sharp side slicing through the muscled neck of the giant man. A minute later Butters held up the knife as he stared down at the crudely decapitated man. The wide shoulders sloped into a big neck that ended not in a mustached face but a mass chaos of tiny bent bones, lumpy bits of skin and muscle, and blood that still flooded abundantly from it all.

With the knife, he crawled over to the woman. She lay before him, either unconscious or faking it. To find out, Butters pressed one sharp face of the knife against her throat. Slowly but surely she opened her eyes, which were such a light gray they could have been mistaken for her eye's whites from far away.

Butters grinned down, his eyes matching hers almost exactly, as he pushed the knife deeper into her pale skin, choking her but not cutting her…yet.

"G-good. You're up."

………………………………..............................

Butters got up from the tile hallway and walked to a certain classroom. Behind him, two dead bodies huddled together in front of the double doors like a gruesome welcome matt.

The school was small, so tiny that he still knew where he was going, even after not stepping foot inside it for years. He stopped, peering into the window of a classroom. Two figures, traced in shadows, moved rapidly against a desk. He knew what they were doing.

As quietly as possible, he opened that door, stepping back into that classroom. The classroom that everyone wanted to leave from, the classroom they had been in for a million years and hadn't learned anything.

Tiptoeing over, he wrinkled his nose up at the two. He stopped behind them, knife prepared. Aiming it at Mr. Garrison's head, he pulled back and let it fall down against the back of his head.

"Jesus Christ!" Mr. Slave yelled as his boyfriend fell down against him. The same fate befell him before Butters left that room.

Out in the hall he saw the green blur that was Chef's car and felt guilty. Once he got outside he decided to leave it there, and ran away from it, across the street.

……………………………….................................

"We're here!" Wendy exclaimed, jumping up and almost over Stan to get to the bus window.

The line of busses pulled into the parking lot, then opened their doors at the same time. A mad rush of bodies moshed together, each one looking for another. Kyle saw his mother's bright red beehive hairdo, and no doubt she could see his, for the two started towards each other.

"Wait up!" Stan demanded, following Kyle, along with Kenny and Wendy. A minute of shoving through people later, they finally made it to Kyle's parents.

"Boys! Just why were we picked up by that horrible Crabtree woman?" Sheila asked, hugging Kyle with one arm and Ike with the other as she glowered at Stan.

"Butters. He's gone mad! We saw him!" Wendy told Kyle's mom as she looked through the crowd for her own parents.

"Stan!" Shelley grunted, running towards him. "Where'd Mom and Dad go?"

"I don't know…"

"Shit… Stan…" Shelley pinched his arm angrily as she looked around, panicked. When she didn't see them she grew angry. "You are such a stupid turd!" She took a fistful of his shirt, pulling him threateningly close to her. "They better be OK, Turd…"

Stan gulped. "Uh… they will." Shelley seemed less menacing without the unattractive metal head gear she'd always worn. Now she was just a bitch, not an ugly bitch.

"They better be…" Reluctantly she retracted her hand and steered it up to flip the water off of her shiny brown hair. Sheila watched her with a vague look of disapproval as she kept her arm up and around Kyle's shoulder, making him stoop down under its weight.

"Well, we'll never find them unless we go inside." Stan led the small group through the many other people, then they all crowded in the doors. After directing the others to the gym, Stan rushed into the office, hoping to find the PA system.

"Why, hello, are you the boy who drove your entire town here to avoid being massacres?" The school secretary asked, lowering her glasses at him.

"Yeah, can you announce for everyone to go inside?"

"Sure, hon." The woman picked up the phone beside her, dialed a number, and announce over the intercom, "Everyone, please report to the gym. South Park residents, please go to the gym." Setting it down, she looked back up at Stan. "Anything else, hon? You look like you could use some candy." She pulled open a drawer of her desk and handed him a bag of fun size Snickers bars. "Be sure to share, hon."

"Thanks, Mrs., umm.."

"Just call me Polly, Sweetheart. Now take this megaphone and go address the crowd." She smiled tightly at his retreating back, thinking impure thoughts about him.

………………………………....................

"Whoa… B-busses… this l-late?" Butters muttered to himself as a row of eight busses snailed past the house he was in. The house that he had wandered into randomly, the people he had killed for no reason that lived in that house, the-

He refused to think about it. "I wonder w-where they're goin'?"

"To get away from you," a small voice coughed from behind him, startling him out of the thoughts he was trying not to think.

Quickly turning to see who the little voice belonged to, Butters readied the knife he's used to kill that couple staying in that house. An undersized girl stared up at him from where she kneeled over her mother's dead body.

"You're a bad mister!" Her eyes filled with tears that never spilled down her rosy cheeks. Instead, Butters was the one who was bawling.

"I'm s-sorry! P-please, forgive me…" He sniffed, trying his hardest to grin down at the girl. "What's your name? I'm B-Butters."

"My name is Loren. Why?"

"Huh-how old are you, L-Loren?"

"Five… Why, mister, why?" Butters' heart melted for her, glaring, confused, up at him with those big green eyes.

"I don't know, L-Loren. I don't…" Butters grimaced out the window, avoiding contact with her haunting eyes. "Loren, c-can you go back to bed for me? Please?"

"Mister, I-"

"Just do it!" Butters yelled.

"Ok, mister…. Ok…" The little girl backed up her steps, never taking her eyes off of Butters.

He waited until the girl was out of sight to drop down on her couch, crying. "Sweet Jesus! I f-fucked everythin' up!" Soon, though, he regained his composure. The two bodies laying on the floor he quickly dragged outside, then hopped into the family's brand new suburban. Starting it up, he vowed to follow the busses.

……………………………….....................................

"Ok, everyone," Stan addressed the huge crowd scattered over the pull-out bleachers of the gym. "We should be safe here, but we all need to stay in this extremely cramped gym to keep track of everybody. Find something to do to pass the time. Right now it's about 7:30, and we're planning on staying here all night."

Stan started towards the bleachers, then made his way up to Kyle, signaling to the others that they could all do as they pleased. A janitor shut all the lights off, just as a safety precaution, and they were all bathed in darkness, with hallway lights casting odd shadows.

"Stan," Wendy whispered sexily, pulling him down into her lap as he stepped past her. "Are you going to do me soon? You know how much I _hate_ waiting…" She started unbuttoning her light purple blouse.

"Wendy! Goddamn it, how can you be thinking about sex at a time like this?" Stan kept on heading up the bleachers to Kyle.

"Wait! Stan, I swear, if we die virgins, it's not my fault!"

"My, Stanley, I didn't know your girlfriend pressured you so much for sex!" Stan's mom said, horrified. "Maybe you should break up with her, that is, if you feel pressured."

"No, just annoyed." Stan sat in between Kyle and Kenny's shaken girlfriend, handing Kyle the bag of Snickers as he did so.

"…I… didn't know what I could do! I'm sorry I didn't stay around; I couldn't!" She sobbed almost incoherently. To Stan's surprise, Kenny was actually trying to comfort her, instead of being indifferent to her like he was with most other girlfriends. He was very pale, although the lighting may have made him look that way, and he had his arms wrapped around the girls shoulders, which shook violently with every gasping breath she took.

"What happened?" Stan asked Kenny, putting an understanding hand on his back, then flinching as his hand hit the smaller teen's spine. Kenny only stared back at him, evidently shocked into dumbness. Stan turned back to Kyle, who watched the three of them with sympathy. "What happened?"

"Butters killed Kenny's parents. I don't know why; Butters seemed to like Kenny a lot, but I guess he really _has_ lost it…"

………………

………………

This chappy was fairly short, so the next one will be twice as long. This one was a transition chappy. Those always suck.


	10. Snickers Bars

Sorry that this has taken me so long. There have been more than a million things that have come up, but at least I have a few more themes and main ideas to add, that have been learned by myself in the past two months. The other two months I was just lazy.

* * *

Once he saw the busses headed out of South Park, he knew where they were going. The high school.

Sighing, he pulled the Suburban over, parking front of a store he'd already destroyed. As he resurveyed his own destruction, a twinge of remorse hit him. Slowly it ebbed away, along with his anger at the world. He glanced at the gun stuffed purposefully in his coat pocket and knew what he wanted to do. Shaking, he raised it to his head, thinking about the few good times he'd had with the few friends he had.

The roar of a pickup truck speeding past him jumped him into nearly dropping the gun and shooting the dirt on the ground in the process. The driver, catching a glimpse of Butters, backed up.

"Hey, kid, what-" Before he could finish, a bullet flew through his head. An angered Butters searched through the man's truck for anything of interest.

He opened the glove box, and a handful of food stamps and some scotch fell out at him. In the seat he saw and grabbed the man's wallet, which lay next to a handgun. Inside it he found a torn twenty and a very old and obviously illegal drivers license. When he realized who it was, he dropped the wallet, grabbed the scotch and the gun, and rushed back to the Suburban, eager to get away from the truck.

Leaving a bloody fingerprint of the dial, Butters flipped on the radio, and Hoobastank's "The Reason blasted throughout the car. Quickly he changed it, trying to find a song that he could stand. The next song he found made him swerve in the road, trying to wipe away a tear.

"If you find your family, don't you cry

In this land of make believe,

Dead and dry

You're so cold, but you feel alive

Lay your hand on me

One last time

Show me how it ends, that's all right

Show me how defenseless you really are

Satisfy an empty inside

Well, that's all right,

Let's give this another try"

* * *

"Kenny, you're sure you'll be all right?" Stan, the leader of the support group surrounding the shocked blonde, asked.

"Yeah..." He answered in a small voice, staring at his feet and holding the girl at his side like a child would hold a teddy bear. "I mean, they were shitty parents... But they didn't deserve to die..."

Biting his lip, Stan tried not to look at Kenny, who looked so kiddish in the dark, his skinny body slouched in an air of disappointment, his arms around his girlfriend to serve as more of a comfort to himself than to her. Kenny, who was the youngest age-wise, but much older in life experiences, having had sex more than he let on, done every drug short of heroin, and been killed by everything that he could possibly be killed by, really looked depressed for the first time that Stan could remember.

"Dude..." Kyle whispered, pulling Stan back from the small crowd. "You don't honestly believe him, do you?"

"I think he'll get over it... it wouldn't be the same if he didn't."

Kyle uncomfortably fingered his curly hair to avoid responding to Stan's comment. The crowd around Kenny was already starting to disperse, its members heading to mull around on the gym floor.

With his support group gone, Kenny stumbled up and closer to Stan. Hesitantly his girlfriend followed.

"Do you want some chocolate?" Kyle asked Kenny flatly, digging out the bag of Snickers bars from the 6 inch space under the fold out bleachers.

"Sure." Taking two bars from Kyle's outstretched hand, Kenny handed one to his girlfriend. As the wrapper of hers crinkled open, Kenny sat, staring, at his own. After a while he slowly opened it, his movements almost delicate, and ate it even slower as he stared off into space.

"Kenny-" Kyle started, but an angered glare from Kenny stopped him from prodding any further.

"I'm gonna be fine, why can't those assholes see that?" He asked the girl after he got up, pulled the hood of his jacket on, and walked off.

Kyle sighed in an "I-told-you-so" manner, and opened up one more snickers bar. He watched the orange of Kenny's hoodie journey through the crowd and into a dark corner.

"Do you think _we'll_ be ok?" Stan wondered, hoping to start a good discourse.

"Why wouldn't we be?" Kyle snipped. He shook his head, as if to get rid of any anger like flipping water off of his hair. "Sorry... I, uh, I hope so." He glanced over at Stan. Their gazes met and held for a few seconds, then, quickly, they both looked away.

* * *

Butters pulled into the 7-11 in North Park. Getting out, he stared down the road at the busses trucking away from him. As he'd predicted, the line of them pulled down the dirt road leading to the high school.

Silently he stumbled inside the store, hoping the blood splattered on his coat and pants wasn't _that_ noticeable. He wiped some water off of his head and started in.

"Sup, Little Dude?" a heavily pierced Junior he recognized greeted from behind the counter, her hands taking off headphones blaring an Esham song.

"Uh, n-nuthin'." Butters dashed towards the food aisle. Randomly he grabbed a bunch of junk food, then some soda, and walked as calmly as he could manage back to the counter, where he added a few candy bars and a newspaper to his purchase.

"That all, Little Dude?" The clerk asked, flipping her dyed black hair back from her eyes. In doing so saw some bloody prints on one of the Mountain Dew bottles. "Um, Little Dude, is that paint?"

"Yes! Y-yeah, I was paintin' a p-picture earlier. Guess I forgot to w-wash my hands." Nervously he formed a grin, watching the clerk bag his two bags of Doritos, three beef jerky sticks, four Hershey bars, and two twenty ounce bottles of Mountain Dew.

"Anything else?" She asked, placing the newspaper in one of the paper bags. A gulp traveled down her throat as she watched Butters cautiously.

Butters saw the nervous gulp going down her esophagus and frowned. "N-no."

"Okay...then, uh, that'll be $15.37, Little Dude." Butters dug through one coat pocket and pulled out a $20 bill.

"Here, Ma'am."

"Thanks." She tried not to panic at the blood on the bill.

"$4.63 is your change, uh, OK?"

Butters walked out of the store with a paper bag in each hand. He put them in the passenger side of the Suburban and, turning, saw the girl, terrified, picking up the phone. Frowning, he shot her though the window, in the side of the head.

Without thinking anything else, he drove up the street and turned sloppily onto the dirt road.

* * *

"Go fish," Kyle responded dully when asked by Wendy if he had any 7's.

"Ok, Go, Stan." Wendy peered seductively over her cards at him.

"Clyde, do you have a King?"

"No- I mean, 'go fish.'" He rolled his eyes, in disbelief that they were actually playing such a childish game. "Dude! I know! Let's play strip poker!"

"What?" the massive group of Go Fish players chorused.

"I said-"

"We all heard you, dumbass! It's just that I can't even play _regular_ poker!" Bebe protested.

"So? Who says _you_ have to play?" Craig pointed out, and got an agreeing "Yeah!" from the crowd.

Insulted, Bebe sulked over to the bleachers to sit with her parents. Wendy dragged Stan off to the locker room, and, Kyle, upon feeling more insecure about his body than every woman on the Earth, decided to opt out of the gigantic strip poker game. Instead he wandered over to the dark corner that Kenny had gone to after being insulted.

He formed a tight-lipped smile when he got there.

* * *

As he slowly munched down the junk food, Butters watched the high school across the dirt road. The white Suburban rested in the driveway of the home of a freshly murdered couple, giving Butters a great view of the crowd slowly filing into the massive building.

"Yes..." A handful of Doritos disappeared behind Butters' lips. His happiness grew with each bite he took. Slowly he unfolded the paper he'd bought and turned the interior lights of the SUV on.

"Hm... Flying squirrels... K-Kelly Clarkson... Iraq..." He muttered, flipping erratically through it. "G-Godamn it!" As the paper soon joined the soda bottle and Hershey bar wrappers on the floor, Butters shut the lights off again.

In a vain attempt to preoccupy himself, he poured the few crumbs in the bottom of the Doritos bag. Suddenly the high school's lights went out, jumping him.

"W-what the hell?" He stepped out of the vehicle and squinted at the darkened building. "Huh..." Butters sighed, and figured he could check it out later. He wandered distractedly inside the white, cookie-cutter house. Awkwardly he stared down at the body of the middle-aged man on the tile floor, then shook off the overwhelming feeling of guilt long enough to arbitrarily grab some food items from the man's fridge.

"Ok, I'll g-go over when I'm done with all this." He glanced down at the box of cold pizza and jar of pickles, placing them on the table. "Th-this'll be a great last m-meal. Thanks, mister."

The dead man could not reply.

* * *

"Kyle? Jesus Christ, give me a minute, dude!" Kenny mumbled through the hood, quickly pulling his pants up. His girlfriend scrambled back into a sitting position, sheepishly wiping off her face.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh, interrupt you," Kyle apologized, trying to stifle a laugh.

"It's OK..." Kenny said, trying to sound mad. He found it impossible to do so and laughed. "Sit down, man."

Kyle did as he was told, lowering his lanky body down next to Kenny. "Can I do anything for you?"

Kenny thought about it, and nodded. "Yeah. Turn around for a minute."

Kyle laughed, and Kenny's girlfriend nervously tittered along with him. Kenny grinned, taking the hood off.

"Where's Stan?"

Kyle shrugged. "Beats me."

Kenny smirked, staring blankly off into the mosh pit forming to some Linkin' Park song blaring on the speakers in the gym ceiling. Kenny's pretty sophomore girlfriend suddenly shot up, getting confused glances from the two boys.

"Um, I like this song a lot, Kenny..."

"Oh yeah? Well, I like how I can see straight up that mini skirt," Kenny chuckled, looking up at her.

She blushed, crossing her legs and arms. "I'm gonna go dance, okay? If it's all right with you, I mean..." Kenny waved her away, and he and Kyle watched her walk off, trying to pull the skirt down to cover more of herself.

"Does she always do that?" Kyle asked.

"What? Make sure everything's ok with me before she does things?"

"Yeah..."

"Yup."

"Why?"

"Well, I think that she had a really jealous boyfriend who made her do that, and now it's a habit... It's annoying, but other than that she's awesome."

"Must be nice," Kyle muttered to himself.

"Kyle, I thought you were dating that Mormon chick."

"No. We broke up last year, remember?"

"Actually, I don't. Jeez, I pay _so_ much attention to you guys!" Kenny laughed. He bit his lip, watching his girlfriend dancing reservedly among the outskirts of the crowd.

Though there was noise to abound, an unusually awkward silence passed between the two. Kyle wet his lips, hoping he could salvage the conversation by driving it away from the topic of girls. Lately, whenever someone started speaking of such, words said spiraled into a corner. He didn't know why, and didn't like it.

He had just barely thought of something to say when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

* * *

"Thank you v-very much, Mister," Butters sighed to the body on the floor. "The p-pizza was v-very good..." He wiped away a tear. "Well, mister, I g-gotta get goin'. S-se ya in another life, s-sir."

Butters rushed to the Suburban before he totally lost it. Once safely inside, he opened and slammed the door until his arms hurt, all the while bawling, screaming, crying until he couldn't any more. One last time he slammed the door, falling against the steering wheel. He let the horn blast into the rain for a few seconds as he regained his composure. Finally, when he was sure he was ready, he turned the key and the engine roared to life. He put the car in drive, pushed the gas petal, and made a sloppy turn into the driveway of the school. He pulled cautiously around behind the big brick building and turned the Suburban off.

After gathering his small collection of guns from the back seat, he looked at his distorted reflection in the rain covered window. He picked up a piece of broken tar and threw it with all his might at the window. It bounced off. After trying several more times, he shot out the window and climbed inside, hoping that no one had heard.

* * *

"Stan?"

"Hey! Where've you been?" Kenny asked, sliding over to make room for his friend between himself and Kyle.

"Locker room," Stan answered through gritted teeth. When Kenny and Kyle stared questioningly up at him, he added, "With Wendy."

"Ah," Kenny and Kyle said together as Stan slid down the wall to sit in between them.

Stan dropped the subject immediately, titling his head back on the wall and sighing. He glanced at Kyle. "Got any of those candy bars left?"

"Actually, only three. How convenient." Kyle dug the Snickers bars out of his pocket and gave two to his friends.

They ate in silence.

* * *

Butters knew where he was. The science lab.

He fumbled his way past the chairs and tables in the dark, stubbing his fingers and toes but not caring. Had he been thinking about anything at all, he would have shot himself dead on the spot. Instead, he kept his mind on trivial things, like how bad the weather was, and where the gym was.

He knew that was where they'd all be.

Slowly he walked out of the room. As he made his way up the hallway, he was unaware that he was even doing anything. Just an occasional stupid thought flitted in and out of his mind.

Before he knew it he was standing outside the back entrance of the gym.

"I s-sure hope I know what I'm doin'."

Although the move was unnecessary, Butters sighed to calm himself down as he slowly pushed open one of the gym doors.

* * *

Ah. Next chappy WILL NOT take anywhere near as long. I will not forget!

The song Butters played is "So Cold," by Breaking Benjamin. I heart that song! The headlines he was reading from the newspaper are real, random headlines I got from a newspaper a loooong time ago.

R & R and thank you for dealing with my procrastinating bullshit!


	11. Kisu

I apologize, yet again, for the length of time my lazy ass has taken to get this story updated. Summer started, and... I basically forgot about it. Until the other night when I dug out the notebook this story is written down on, I hadn't thought of it.

I read my ending. It sucks. A lot. So I decided to chop, hack, slash, and then burn the evidence. New ending, more meaty details of the blood and gore. Today I read the story in its online format, and it beats the written version, for the most part, with a lead pipe. I'm not bragging, and am still somewhat dissatisfied with my "this happened, then that happened, cut and dry" writing style.

Someone asked about Wendy being horny to a degree of desperation. I had planned for this to just be an odd quirk of her, but it turned into much more. Let's just say, in the end she still loves Stan and regrets pressuring him so much for sex. coughgianthintcough

on with story! (finally)

* * *

Stan found no ability inside him to converse with the boys on either side of him. The three of them sat in silence, although the rest of the world partied, keeping hearts and minds off of the predicament they were all in. The three teens all leaned their heads against the wall, letting the chillingly fitting music of The Cure pulse through them. The mosh pit, whose singular form they watched with a distracting little interest, danced somewhat soberly to the song playing.

Burn red burn red burn red burn red and gold

Are the deep dark colours of the snakes I hold

Burn red burn red burn red and gold

Are the deep dark colours of the devil at home

"She pulls me down just as I'm trying to hide

Grabs me by the hair and drags me outside

And starts digging in the dirt...

For a not so early bird its the only way

For her to get the worm..."

Kyle scoffed, and made a half-hearted attempt at breaking their silence.

"That song sucks."

"You're goddamn right it does," Stan agreed, cradling his head in his hands and regretting everything. Maybe he was even sorry he was ever born... not that it mattered. What was done was done, and he had realized it far too late to take it back.

He looked up at the exact moment it happened. What had actually happened, he didn't know. It sounded horrible, a million and one people, all rushing to save themselves, although they had thought they were already saved, like people waiting out a hurricane in a shelter.

Did they know their shelter wasn't safe?

Of course they did.

Did they think the hurricane would get them?

No one does.

* * *

Butters didn't know who he stabbed. Whoever it was screamed bloody murder, which turned the crush of bodies into even more of a lethal weapon. People scattered everywhere as Butters sneaked into a corner, watching the slivers of light from the hallway illuminate a select few.

He saw faces he knew. Faces he didn't know. Faces that had wronged him, the small handful that had treated him decently. He saw Bebe, exacting pity and provoking terror from her wounds, inflicted by a "mystery" attacker.

She held her left arm as the arms, legs, and torsos of her classmates swirled around her, like ants in a anthill that had been assaulted by a child with a stick. The figure of Wendy comforted her, trying to take her towards the nurse's office. Butters watched, as though he were the child with the stick. He contemplated poking the anthill a few more times, but decided on waiting for the ants to calm down first.

As he watched, he pulled out a random gun from one of his jacket pockets. It was a cold, dark mass in his hand, and it just being there made him realize he was not dreaming. He wanted to use it. He could, anytime, and more than likely hit someone.

Butters grinned, and aimed the gun at someone. He couldn't tell and didn't care who. He followed the person's movements with the gun, watching her run back and forth; following her running back and forth, two and fro.

She had no definite direction. She would sprint until she ran into someone, then go back. Despite the increasing mountain of guilt building on his shoulders, Butters laughed a bit. The music was still playing. The gym's lights were still shut off. It was at that moment that he decided that these people were too stupid to live. Anyone but a complete idiot would turn off the music, turn on the lights, and investigate.

Finally he fired, and the girl in his sights fell. The sound of it caused everyone to rush for the exits, suddenly realizing the seriousness of the situation.

* * *

Craig made it to one of them first. He pushed it, and pushed it some more, but to no avail. Craig panicked as he pressed his entire body weight against the door.

Another shot rang out, more people screamed. Even more people rushed towards the exit doors.

The last thing Craig saw was a hundred bodies stampeding towards him.

* * *

Stan jumped up, fearing the worst. He blamed himself. To say he didn't would be lying, and he hated lying.

He also hated knowing what was going to happen, and not being able to change a thing.

Beside him, Kyle bit his lip as he looked around.

A barrage of gunshots smattered around them, hitting everything and everyone, except for the teens. Kenny swallowed hard, trying to melt into the gym wall.

"Shit! Shit! Son of a Bitch! This is all my fault!" Stan exploded, slamming his fist on the wall until he was sure his hand was broken.

"Stan, stop!" Kyle struggled to pull Stan's muscled arm back before his friend could punch the wall again. He made Stan face him, firmly squeezing Stan's shoulders, attempting comfort. "Don't beat yourself up. It'll be fine." Kyle thought his kind words insincere, but they apparently they worked. They tasted funny in his mouth, like one saying I love you to someone they did not love.

Kyle had done that many times.

Stan leaned forward and hugged Kyle, trying his best not to melt down completely. Kyle hugged back, not really understanding why Stan needed him for comfort. Behind him, Kenny watched the scene, arms crossed, a half formed sly smile on his lips. Kenny sensed Kyle getting a bit uncomfortable after a few seconds, and cleared his throat. Stan shot back, encouraged.

"We need to get out of here!" Stan grabbed Kenny's arm violently, making Kenny follow him. Kyle walked after Stan, not wanting to be handled like Kenny had been.

The shots continued. People around them dropped more and more often. They all tried to block it out, but cries of pain got through their mental barrier. One or two, maybe all three of them, might have shed a tear or two. Maybe they knew why. Maybe they didn't.

Kyle felt his foot slide in something. He lost his balance and fell down, next to a person who grabbed at his shirt, begging for him to end her life.

He got up as quickly as he could. The liquid he'd slipped in was blood. The blood of someone who he couldn't help. He could offer sympathy, but it wouldn't do any good. The words of comfort would sting the insides of his mouth like mouthwash, even though he really felt the feelings he expressed.

All three of them avoided looking at the bloodbath. However, Kenny couldn't help but steal an occasional glance.

"Hey, Stan, isn't that-"

Before his question was finished, Stan had darted out into the middle of the gym.

* * *

Butters aimed at one more person and pulled the trigger. When no sound came out, he threw the gun at the person, missing completely, and fished another of Jimbo's guns out of his pocket. The people still scattered mindlessly in the dark.

A few had bumped into him, but had not even realized just who he was. Again, as he took a step back, Butters looked at all the destruction. The few people left were running for the exit doors. He had no idea he could kill that many.

The thought of death made him nauseous, especially when thought of at his own hands. The air had the distinctly metallic smell of blood. Under his feet, the gym floor was red. From the slices of light coming in, Butters watched the crimson pools glint and glisten, much like a lake beneath the spell of a light wind. At his right, someone yelled.

Butters looked in the direction of the sound, and saw figures. Figures still standing, rushing no doubt to the aid of a beloved. The figures had disturbed Butters in a personal moment.

For that, the figures, who were indeed people, would pay.

* * *

"Ah! Shit!" Stan grunted, falling. He slid to a stop near the person he had been rushing to save.

Wendy.

"Stan!" Kyle and Kenny yelled, falling with him when they both slipped in a puddle of blood. Kyle landed on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Behind him, Kenny had not been so lucky. Kyle turned his head, and crawled to Kenny's aid.

"Kenny? Kenny, are you okay?" Kyle asked almost hysterically, lightly shaking him. Kenny's head wobbled back and forth, almost as if he were saying no. Horrified, Kyle let go of Kenny and turned back to Stan, hoping to save at least one of his friends.

He slid easily through the blood. It sloshed around him, thoroughly wetting his shirt and pants. It felt warm against his skin, and clung to the hairs on his arms. He noticed that it was thick and gooey, like a giant spill of rich hot chocolate. Gulping down the vomit rising in his throat, Kyle stopped next to Stan.

"Are you okay?"

Stan shook his head. His expression was pained, and every breath he took labored him. Kyle moved Stan's hand away from his chest and saw a growing circle of blood staining Stan's shirt. Stan's hand was soaked with his own blood. It ran down the underside of his arm in little streams, branching off endlessly to join the ocean on the floor.

"Holy shit!" Kyle place Stan's hand back and applied a little pressure, but stopped when Stan squirmed underneath him. "Say something, Stan!"

Stan opened his mouth, and Kyle, horrified, watched a slow trickle of blood flow down his chin.

"Holy shit... Forget it. Don't say anything."

* * *

Butters watched all three figures fall. He was sure he'd only hit one of them.

Sighing, he slowly stepped out from the shadows. What few people he saw standing, he walked over to and either stabbed or shot.

* * *

"Stan... you'll be okay... It's gonna be okay..." Kyle bit back tears as he saw Wendy laying, clearly dead, next to Stan. He wasn't sad. He was angry at her. He blamed her for what had happened.

At least, that's what he told himself.

He glanced behind him at Kenny, whose arms and blond hair were covered in blood. He laid peacefully on one of the few spots on the gym floor where someone else hadn't fallen.

Kyle's attention returned to Stan when he heard the other teen cough weakly.

"Stan?" Some of the blood Stan was coughing up splattered on Kyle's face. "You... Are you okay?"

"No..." Stan answered, obviously pained to do so. He gave as truthful an answer as he could. He wasn't "okay" in his mind. In his mind, he was a fucking dumb shit. "...not okay."

"Don't say that! You'll be fine!"

Again Stan shook his head. His hair was wet and stringy. There were cuts and nicks and bruises all over him, and every one of them hurt. "I'm gonna die." He said it as quickly as he could to make it hurt less, like ripping off a Band Aid.

"No! Don't say that!" Kyle commanded, angered suddenly.

"Kyle..." Stan grinned despite his condition. The grin disappeared long enough for Stan to cough up some more blood, then it returned. "I've been... meaning to tell you... something."

* * *

Butters was going to do it.

He took the knife he'd just used to finish off Bebe and held it up to his neck. A cough startled him, and he noticed Kyle and Stan amongst a fairly large gathering of dead bodies.

Scowling, he began to trek towards them.

* * *

"Kyle... you remember what Kenny said about me, right?"

"Yeah..." Kyle answered, suspecting the direction in which the conversation was going.

"Well... he was right. I do like you. A lot."

"What... why didn't you say something?" Kyle lifted himself up on his elbows.

"I thought you'd be mad."

"Duh." Kyle's eyes narrowed at Stan. He _was _mad. Mad at what, or who, he couldn't say. Some of his anger was placed with Stan. A little with Kenny. Maybe his mother. Overall Kyle found some reason to be mad at most of his friends.

He didn't like being lied to, and Stan had lied to him, in a way. Although he couldn't blame him, it still stung a bit.

Stan looked away, insulted. He regretted it all. Although he had told Kyle only on his deathbed, like he promised himself, he hated the way Kyle had reacted. Kyle had made it seem like Stan had suddenly contracted an infectious disease. Grunting a little, Stan resolved not to think anymore. It hurt too much, and he didn't have the energy or time for it.

Sighing with great pain, he directed his hazel eyes back to Kyle's green ones. "Come here." He motioned with his left hand for Kyle to lean closer. "More..."

Kyle did as he was told. Already his disgust at Stan for keeping such a huge secret from him had subsided. That disgust was replaced with guilt for not understanding Stan's feelings.

When Kyle was close enough, Stan put his hand behind Kyle's head and pulled the redhead's lips towards his own. At first Kyle resisted, then slowly gave up the fight, knowing that tons of sports had made Stan strong enough to hold him down, even injured and with his left hand.

He didn't mind the metallic taste of Stan's blood in his mouth. He really didn't mind as much as he thought he would that Stan was kissing him. Maybe he actually liked it. Maybe he actually kissed back.

Stan felt Kyle's hand run through his sopping hair. In spite of himself he smiled, closing his eyes and burying his other hand in Kyle's red curls. The two of them went on kissing, among dead bodies of girlfriends and comrades and maybe the occasional declared enemy. Among moms and dads and brothers and sisters.

They never noticed a thing. It was a last hurrah, but it was a damned good one.

The hand in his hair went limp, and the lips still pressed against his own parted.

"Stan... are you-" Kyle stopped midsentence when he looked down at his friend, whose eyes stared, unseeing, into his own. Kyle watched as Stan's head flopped over against his shoulder. His eyes welled up with tears. "Stan's... dead..." he told himself, still staring down in disbelief.

"Y-yes, he is," Butters agreed, looking down at Kyle, knife ready.

Butters was the last person Kyle saw before everything went black.

* * *

Wow. I did it. Go me.

Next chap up soooooooooooon... before summer ends!


	12. Brain Damage

I start school tomorrow. Damn it. I have to see people I hate.

But, I didn't forget to write this:P

* * *

His eyes opened slowly to white walls and beeping machines. Huge machines. Huge, white machines, with buttons and levers, and black screens with green lines and numbers on them. They beeped rhythmically.

Next to one of the machines he watched a boy sleeping in an uncomfortable position on a chair. The boy's legs were bent over the back of the chair, and his fairly long black hair hung down from his head, flopped off the edge of the seat. He snorted in his sleep, and moved as much as his arrangement would allow.

"Ike...? Where's mom?" Kyle asked, speaking with a moderate amount of difficulty. He tried to sit up, but a shot of pain in his side stopped him and, defeated, he collapsed back into the bed. Groaning, he looked around again, and saw the IV in his arm.

With widening eyes, he turned his attentions back to his little brother still sleeping on the chair. "Ike! Wake up!" He started to panic, but calmed a little at the rush of footsteps towards the door directly in front of him.

"Buhbie! You're awake!" Sheila said ecstatically as she rushed in the room, with a doctor and nurse closely following. When she threw her arms around him in a hug, he cringed from another pain in his side. "Sorry, Kyle," she said, stepping uncomfortably back from him.

"What happened?" Kyle asked the doctor standing, forebodingly, at the foot of his bed. The doctor's face grew dark.

"Well, Kyle, we'll explain that in due time. You just rest up." He waved an arm distractedly behind him at the nurse standing in a corner, under a TV set hooked to the ceiling. Her trembling lips forced a grin, and then dropped it abruptly. She made a bit too much eye contact with Kyle. "If you need anything, tell her."

"Okay..." Kyle looked at her right back in the eyes. Usually, when he did that, people would drop their eyes immediately. She didn't, and instead he was looking away from her. At that she stepped in front of the doctor. Her fake smile made her look plastic. Kyle could have counted every tooth in her head if he wanted to. "Where's dad?" He wondered absently at Sheila as he glared at the nurse.

"He... You'll see him soon, Buhbie. Don't worry," Sheila answered quickly, turning away from him so he couldn't see her face. "So, Kyle," She turned back to him, having composed herself, "Don't you want some food or something? You've been out for a while..."

"Really? How long?"

"Uh... well, fifteen... _hours_... or so... Do you want something to eat?" Sheila seemed eager to change the subject.

"Okay..." Kyle made mental notes of how strange they were all acting. Ike sat up stiff in the metal chair, watching Kyle curiously, as though he might bloom like a flower. Sheila kept her eyes to the floor, examining with distaste all the scuffs on her shoes. She looked up suddenly.

"What do you want to eat, Buhbie?"

He shrugged. "Anything, I guess."

"Alright," She smiled, glancing at the nurse. "Come on, Ike, let's go make sure no one spits in Kyle's food!"

"OK!" Ike said excitedly, jumping up and off the chair.

As Kyle watched them all leave, he tried to remember what had happened.

Whatever it was, he knew it was bad. The look on the doctor's face and his mother's clear avoidance of the subject proved it.

Sighing, he grabbed the TV remote from the table beside him. The small table was littered with flowers and get well cards, but he didn't care to take time and look at them.

He surfed the channels for one thing. Cartoons, sports, music videos, the Discovery Channel- news.

"...And Paris Hilton has turned all the Hilton Hotels into brothels. In other news, a massacre in the small town of South Park, Colorado, has left more than one hundred dead and countless others wounded."

Kyle tried to sit up again, but fell back from the pain. Annoyed, he ripped off the blankets covering him, revealing a light blue hospital gown. He lifted it up and saw three huge stitched up gashes in the left side of his abdomen.

"Holy shit!" Kyle hastily covered himself up as his mother came into the room.

"Buhbie, why don't you watch cartoons or something?" She asked when she heard what the CNN reporter was saying.

"No!" Kyle kept a firm hold on the remote as Sheila got closer. "What happened, Mom?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Who else got hurt?"

"Kyle, what do you mean?"

"The massacre... where's Stan? And Kenny? And Cartman?"

"Buhbie, you want to see them?"

"Yes."

"Then give me the remote." Reluctantly he handed it to her and waited, staring up expectantly. Sheila turned the TV off. When she turned back to him, she looked strained. "Who do you want to see?"

"Stan."

"Um... later, Kyle."

"Then I wanna see Kenny."

Sheila sighed, keeping her eyes on the floor. She pursed her lips and looked back up at her son. "Alright." It was all she could do to keep her voice from cracking, and Kyle could see that. She walked out of the room, taking the remote with her.

Kyle crossed his arms and waited. He remembered a little, enough to make him want to cry. Something was wrong with Kenny. That was it. Something had to be wrong with Kenny. As Kyle obsessed over all the injuries Kenny probably had- broken this, broken that, who knows how many brain problems- he felt surer and surer that Kenny would be nothing but a drooling vegetable, pushed around in a wheel chair and pissing in a bed pan. He would be in a full body cast, and unable to say anything except "Urrrr." He would be cross eyed. No, he would be missing an eye. And blind in the other one. He would have a tube through his nose to feed him. There would be holes in his brain. Kyle and his family would have to take care of the drooling, body cast, cross eyed and blind, brain-dead Kenny, and it would never be the same...

"Hey."

The sound jumped Kyle. What shocked him more was the blond directly in front of him. Kenny still looked like a perfectly capable human being. He wasn't smiling. There was a bunch of gauze wrapped around his head. His hospital gown made him look ridiculous. He was staring at Kyle, head cocked to one side, right in the eyes. One eye was half-closed, the other was open seemingly as wide as it would go. It was bloodshot. It didn't seem like a mean gesture, although Kyle felt uncomfortable.

"You wanted to see me." It was more of a statement than a question. He sounded different. He sounded tired, drained. He mumbled his words from one side of his mouth, and because of that his voice sounded deeper. Beside him, Sheila kept one hand clamped on his shoulder.

"Kenny! What happened?" He looked at the bandage, feeling sympathetic.

"I fell. I got a bad concussion," he explained hollowly, biting words off curtly, like he wanted to say more but was too bitter to say it at that moment. His open, bloodshot eye twitched a few times, and Kyle realized it was involuntary.

"Oh. Do you know how I got these bigass gashes in my side?" Kenny glanced up at Sheila, but she was too busy glaring at Kyle to notice.

"No. I was unconscious." Sheila was still watching Kyle closely. Kenny mouthed "Butters" to Kyle, and sighed inwardly.

"It's nice to see you, Kenny," Kyle said, smiling.

Kenny's lip turned up on one side; a half formed smile was all he could manage. "It's good to see you, too." While he couldn't smile fully, his eyes did lighten up a bit. "Bye."

"Bye."

Sheila hustled the tiny figure, which had seemed to shrink smaller by the trauma, out of Kyle's room.

* * *

The blonde stared around the plain white hallway.

He felt his breathing quicken; he hated hospitals with a great ferocity. Every time he'd been in one he died.

Since waking up the day before, he entire world had been turned upside down, inside out and backwards.

The doctors had told him, without the flicker of an eyelash, that his parents, brother, and girlfriend had been gruesomely murdered. They also told him that Stan and Cartman were dead, which he refused to believe. They said that Kyle and Wendy were both comatose. To put frosting on the cake of delicious misery, he learned that, at some point he couldn't remember, had suffered a massive seizure, and couldn't even feel, let alone control, one half of his face.

They said it would get better. He hoped to hell so.

Somehow, after being in a coma for almost a day, Kyle had awoken, and Kenny had seen him. Kyle was the first familiar face he had seen all day, and, he feared, would be the last. He didn't even recognize himself in the mirror anymore.

"Alright, son, get back to your room," a passing nurse said, jumping Kenny out of his thoughts.

He obeyed, and wanted so badly to be anywhere else.

* * *

"So, Buhbie," Sheila started, following the nurse carrying a tray of chicken noodle soup and pudding. "I see you've noticed your injuries."

"Yes," Kyle said stiffly, trying to sit up.

"No! Dumbass, if you sit up like that you'll rip all your stitches out!" The nurse grumbled, setting the tray down on Kyle's lap. She pushed a button on the side of the bed and Kyle felt his head being raised, without any pain. "Enjoy it," she spat, leaving the room as quickly as possible.

"Kyle, honey, a lot of people died on last Tuesday. Be thankful _you_ didn't."

"Where's Stan? I wanna see Stan."

"Stan died, Buhbie," Sheila said, lowering her eyes as she sat on the chair by Kyle's bed.

"But... how?" Kyle felt the familiar sting of tears behind his green eyes.

"A gunshot wound to the lung. The ambulance workers said he died in your arms." Sheila talked towards the floor, wiping her eyes now and then.

"No... No... Butters... He did it.. he stabbed me... after Stan... died.." Kyle forced the tears back as he remembered. To no avail. He remembered it all, and couldn't help but start sobbing.

"Yes, Buhbie. Butters also shot Eric."

"What happened to Butters?"

"He killed himself."

"What about everyone else... are they all okay?"

"Kyle, you, Kenny, and Wendy are the only survivors of your entire grade."

"Whoa..." Kyle stared at his hands for a minute. "Wait... When I saw Wendy... all bloody... she looked dead."

"No, but very close to it. She's still in a coma, Buhbie."

"Wow..."

"You probably want to eat in peace, honey."

"Sure... sure mom."

Kyle knew that he was lying.

* * *

After two days of sleep filled with nightmares, Kyle was allowed to see Wendy. The nurse wheeled him to the ICU, all the while spitting insults and curses at him. She turned corners so sharply he nearly fell out of the wheelchair.

"We're here," she growled, stopping at room 243. Then, she kicked open the door and roughly pushed him in. "Alright. You two lovebirds got fifteen minutes." Grumbling, she stomped out.

"Wendy?" Kyle looked at the black haired girl with tubes running everywhere. She looked terrible, laying, slightly inclined, on the bed.

"Kyle..." she sighed, reaching out a hand for him. He wheeled himself over and took it gently. "Kyle... how are you doing?"

"Fine, I guess, considering that we both almost died..."

"Yeah..." She gave his hand a weak squeeze. "I got shot in the head..."

"Holy shit... how did you manage to survive that?"

"God only knows..." Suddenly her deep brown eyes focused intensely on his. "What did Stan say... Before he..." her lip started quivering, and she looked away. "Before he died?"

Kyle shook his head. "I don't remember. I blacked out."

"Oh." Wendy tried to hide her disappointment as she lowered her eyes to the white tile of the floor. She would never have admitted it, but the answer to that very question was the only reason she wanted to see Kyle. They would have nothing else to talk about. Make small talk about how good they were both doing- but never allow the other to see any actual emotions, like rocks trying to have a conversation.

Kyle opened his mouth to tell her about the kiss he and Stan had shared, but decided against it. The memory of it disturbed him a little, knowing that he had felt the life leave Stan's body.

"Do you know when we can go back to school?" Kyle asked, hoping to start a conversation that wouldn't end in an awkward silence.

"After they clean up all the blood and stuff. That should take a week or so." Wendy stared down at her thumb, slowly rubbing the back of Kyle's hand. "It won't be the same. Everyone's dead. It'll be just you, me, and Kenny left. The rest will be North Park kids."

"Do you think we'll make it?"

"Yeah. We can pull through anything." Even as Wendy said it, she felt unsure of herself.

* * *

The first day back to school the following Wednesday was just a test.

The three freshmen awkwardly stood next to each other, pretending to be ready for the day coming. Wendy complained of how horrible her foster parents were treating her, but Kenny and Kyle said little or nothing to console her. The two were too deeply rooted in their own problems.

Kenny stared at the ground, not feeling right without the familiar daily argument between Kyle and Cartman.

Then again, nothing felt right anymore. Kyle's parents took him in, and he was very grateful despite the fact that Sheila's lectures on anorexia were all he could take. He was the only one of the three who had successfully blocked out the memories and nightmares associated with that night, or so he thought.

He blinked hard- at least he had regained some of the use of his eye, although he could only half close it, if that. It was so cold out- he wore his hoody, Kyle wore his coat and hat, although Wendy was dressed in the shortest skirt she could find, and wore a black hoody that had belonged to Stan. Her legs were shivering uncontrollably, and she denied being cold at all.

Looking at her, Kenny figured that she took it the hardest, since everyone around town blamed Stan for taking them all to the gym in the first place. She happened to be a major planner in the evacuation attempt, so blame fell on her, too.

Her parents were dead. Her foster parents were assholes, according to her. Kyle's dad was dead. Kenny's parents were dead. Stan's mom had killed herself the day before.

Stan's funeral was tomorrow. They were all going, shunning school for him. He would have been proud.

The bus squealed to a stop in front of them, and Kyle stepped on first. Wendy noticed how he had to slouch down to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling of the bus.

Every day she grew more and more secretly attached to him. She saw him as a substitute for Stan, and realizing that made her feel guilty about it.

The trio sat in the back two bus seats, Kenny and Kyle in the right one, and Wendy in the left.

A sudden memory flashed into her mind and kept piecing itself together until it stuck in her thoughts.

She saw herself, in her mind, pawing Stan's body as he pushed her hands away. The memory made a few tears slip down her cheeks, landing on the super short skirt she wore.

On the next stop, she moved to the seat in front of the redhead and blonde.

As she stared hopelessly out the window at the town flowing by her, she cried. Not openly, not so anyone could hear, but she did. The caution tape put around almost every building reminded her of the events the previous Tuesday.

It was too bad, really. She didn't mind Butters, even though everyone else did.

* * *

Done. Next chap up whenever. Prolly next weekend or something. 


End file.
